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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25908742">Wrought Iron and Blood</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nokabrenna/pseuds/nokabrenna'>nokabrenna</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hellsing, Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alucard does not do People, Attempt at Humor, Bounty Hunters, Canon-Typical Violence, Demons, F/M, Family Fluff, Gen, I'm Bad At Summaries, Seras is so over it, Tags May Change, Telepathy, There's gore, Vampire Politics, Vampires, for hellsing, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:15:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>39,281</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25908742</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nokabrenna/pseuds/nokabrenna</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sookie's enjoyed having a quiet life where she's no longer involved in the supernatural world. She's been running Merlotte's with her husband. With two kids and a white picket fence, her life's perfect. Unfortunately, she gets dragged back in again when two bounty hunters show up in her bar one night....</p><p>Seras Victoria's finally adjusting to her job. However, her partner is still a bit of a challenge for her. Until Integra sends them to hunt down an outlaw vampire who's fled to backwoods Louisiana...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alucard &amp; Seras Victoria, Sam Merlotte/Sookie Stackhouse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Sookie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is such a work in progress. I should be able to update this every two weeks or so. Expect some tweakage to the tags, maybe some to the summary.</p><p>The POV will be first person and alter between Sookie and Seras. They will have their own chapters.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I should have known that the supernatural world and its problems wouldn’t leave me alone when two vampires walked into my bar. But then again, it isn’t like I haven’t spent close to two years of my life intimately involved with local supernatural politics. And the fact that I’m currently married to a shapeshifter doesn’t do much to keep me off of the supernatural radar. Well, that, and I’m famous in some circles, even though I’d much rather not be. My name’s Sookie Stackhouse, I’m 32, I live in small-town Louisiana, and I’m a part-time manager of Merlotte’s Bar. I also happen to be a magnet for supernatural problems. Let me tell you how this one started.</p><p>I was working my regular shift at Merlotte’s, the 3pm to close. The shift proper didn’t start until a bit later, but I liked to get there early so I could get caught up on paperwork that I or my husband, Sam Merlotte, didn’t get to the previous day. The first part of the shift was pretty normal, but it was about ten when the vampires walked in. I was behind the bar, mixing some cocktails for Sharise to take to a group of college girls, out on spring break.</p><p>It would have been easy for a normal person to tell that one of them was a vampire, at least. He was quite tall and pale, and dressed in a blood red get-up that looked like it was from the 1800s. I mean a sweeping coat, oversized hat, riding boots, and a three-piece suit. For whatever reason, he terrified me. His companion was a petite curvy blonde who was looking pretty normal. An ordinary person would have thought either vampire and fang-banger, out to feed the human, or a couple of fang-bangers, out for dinner somewhere mainstream. No matter what they were, they stuck out like a sore-thumb in Merlotte’s. I happened to know that they were vampires as soon as they walked in.</p><p>Vampires don’t really look different from normal people. They’re a bit paler, and they can sometimes glow a bit at night, but that’s about it. The only thing that really sets them apart at a glance is the fangs, and those can be hidden. Unfortunately, I was born a telepath, due to some little genetic blessing/curse. And I mean blessing/curse in the literal sense. I always know what a person is thinking. Drove me half-crazy when I was younger, and I smiled a lot to hide my near-constant headache and all the noise in my head. I eventually learned how to shield, and that made spending time with humans easier. I can tell a vampire straight-away because they read as blanks to me. I can’t read them at all, but I know they’re there. These two, the tall dark man and the blonde girl, were definitely vampires.</p><p>They came up to the bar, and the blonde offered a cheeky smile. “Two Bloody Marys, please. Extra bloody.” She had a slight accent that reminded me of Dick van Dyke in Mary Poppins. I raised my eyebrows. Most of the vampires I know<b>—</b>and I know more than I’d like<b>—</b>order a plain True Blood, or other synthetic blood substitute.</p><p>“Are you sure that you’d like extra tomato juice in that?” our other bartender tonight, Damian, asked.</p><p>“No,” the blonde said, shaking her hair out of her startlingly purple eyes, and flashing a hint of fang. “You substitute the tomato juice with blood. Two with B-positive, if you have it.”</p><p>I could "hear" how badly confused Damian was. The only vampire that was a somewhat regular visitor to Merlotte’s was my neighbor, Bill Compton. Bill liked an A-neg True Blood, and he wasn’t shy about hiding the fact that he drank it with us humans about once a month. These two must be really trying to mainstream. I put my 100-watt smile on my face, and urged Damian out of the way. “How about I deal with these customers here, okay?” I said. “You can finish the cocktails I’m making for Sharise’s table.” I turned to the vampires and kept smiling. “Now, it won’t be two shakes of a rabbit’s tail. B-positive Bloody Marys you said?”</p><p>“Yes,” Mr. Tall, Dark and Scary said.</p><p>“On it,” I replied. As I turned, I caught the blonde elbowing her companion. He only looked down on her in irritation. I rolled my eyes. <em>Men.</em> I went to the back to grab a bottle of B-Pos. Should be easy enough to split it between the two, and well, since we only bought 6-packs, it wouldn’t be that hard to keep the drinks flowing. I ducked in the office to see Sam. He was doing performance reviews tonight, and he was currently doing a write-up. I knocked, even though I knew that he could both smell and hear me. He looked up.</p><p>“We’ve got two vampires at the bar. I don’t know why they’re here, but I’m grabbing a bottle of B-pos for them. Apparently they want Bloody Marys,” I said.</p><p>“Do you want me to call someone?”</p><p>“I’ll ask and see if they’ve made their formal introductions if I can. If they haven’t, I’ll try to direct them to do so. If I start feeling a bad vibe, I’ll scream, and you can push the panic button.” I smiled a touch too widely. “I think they’re alright. At least, the girl is. But I wanted you to know.”</p><p>Sam smiled warmly at me. “Thank you, Sookie. I trust you on this.”</p><p>“I know.” And I did. I got a feeling of trust and love and worry from Sam, and it just about made my heart glow. He’d do right by me, and that’s all I asked. Even if it meant calling my ex’s right hand to settle some problems here. Which I hoped he didn’t have to. Anyways, I prepared the two Bloody Marys for the vampires<b>—</b>who had decided to pay as they went<b>—</b>and served them to them with a smile on my face.</p><p>The blonde smiled back at me, Mr. Tall, Dark and Scary just sneered. “Thank you,” the blonde chirped.</p><p>“Welcome,” I replied.</p><p>Makenzie swished over to the bar, gum popping. “Table Six decided they want another pitcher of beer.”</p><p>“On it,” Damien replied.</p><p>“An’ the sorority girls at Table Two decided they wanted a pitcher of Sangria.”</p><p>I raised my eyebrows.</p><p>Makenzie blew her bangs up. “I know. But at least they have one DD among them.”</p><p>“Well, that’s good,” I replied. I quickly checked in at Table Two. Most of them were drunk, and looking to have an active Girl’s Weekend here in Bon Temps: target practice was prominent among their thoughts. But then, most of them were pretty drunk. The girls who I thought would be likely candidates for the DD were slightly less drunk than their sisters, who would put drunken owls to shame. All those margaritas were taking their toll. I made a pitcher of Sangria for Makenzie, and brought it to the bar for her. “You tell those girls this is it for the night, and I’m cutting them off. I don’t want any of them to get in an accident on the way home.”</p><p>“Yes’m!”</p><p>Meanwhile at the bar, Mr. Tall, Dark and Scary was scaring people away. I didn’t quite mind<b>—</b>it was a little easier to block out people when they were further away from me. But I did mind because these people were my friends and neighbors and fellow human citizens. Merlotte’s wasn’t someplace people came to when they wanted to have a taste of true nightlife. The claws and teeth kind that had been percolating by bits into the world ever since the vamps came out of the coffin. There was Fangtasia over in Shreveport for that. That was for humans. The Supes (short for supernaturals) had their own bars that they went to, of course. Minimal humans present. I had been to one of those once<b>—</b>and had lived to regret a bit of that experience. Only bar fight I’ve been in (and we don’t get many here in Merlotte’s, not with me working), and it nearly killed me. No, Merlotte’s was pretty much strictly human, and the only Supes here were people like Sam and Bill and a few of the Hotshot werepanthers. They lived like humans, with humans in Sam’s case, and largely pretended to be less scary and strange than they really were.</p><p>Mr. Tall, Dark and Scary was <em>not</em> that. He was not supernatural with the edges rounded off like his companion was and like most of our Supe regulars were. And that unnerved people. Strangely enough, the danger and profound alienness of him attracted my patrons too. I had seen that before, with my ex... I guess I could call him my ex-husband, because according to vampire law, we <em>had</em> been married, but I preferred the term ex-lover. Even if it made me remember things I had best not be thinking about as a woman married to another man. Eric Northman, former Sheriff of Area 5, now Consort to the Queen of Oklahoma, had exhibited a similar draw. He was handsome, dangerous, and knock-your-socks-off charismatic. The crimson vampire maybe had the looks, he definitely had the danger in tons, but I didn’t get much charisma from him. Unless you count “keep an eye on this, danger, danger!” and intimidation as charisma.</p><p>Sharise, Damien, and Makenzie were nervous. <em>God, how can a girl like that be next to a guy like him?</em> Sharise thought. <em>She seems so normal, not like a usual fangbanger like I seen at Fangtasia.</em></p><p>Damien had concerned himself more with the patrons and our waitresses. <em>No wonder no one wants to go to the bar, with a</em> <em>Thing</em> <em>like that sitting there. Maybe the Fellowship is right, and we shouldn’t allow vamps in public businesses run by humans. Let them have their Fangtasias, and we can have our places. He keeps looking like he’s gonna take a bite out of Makenzie, and that bit sitting next to him won’t even bat an eye. Even if she does look cute, she’s not normal.</em></p><p>Makenzie was more concerned with the red-clad vampire leering at her now and then. <em>Ohmigod ohmigod, there’s a vampire in Merlotte’s and that doesn’t usually happen! The last ones besides Bill were years ago according to Arlene. Why is he looking at me? Why is he looking at my boobs? My shirt’s not that tight, is it? Did I spill anything? Is he gonna go for my neck? I’ve heard it’s not bad, but<b>—</b></em></p><p>I walked over to them and cleared my throat.</p><p>Mr. Tall, Dark and Scary didn’t respond, but his blonde companion quirked an eyebrow at me. “Yes?” she asked in her soft voice. She kinda reminded me of my<b>—</b>I guess I can call her a friend<b>—</b>friend, Pam. Delicate and gentle seeming, but with a streak of ruthlessness. She was chewing on her celery stalk in a manner best described as “sex-kittenish.” Which was aided by her magenta midriff-baring halter-top, ample chest, and general air of slight innocence. But she was a vampire, and I had met Pam.</p><p>“Your friend’s scaring our customers off. I was wonderin’ if y’all had been to Fangtasia yet this evening? The crowd’s better there, and I’m sure they make better drinks.”</p><p>“Fangtasia? The bar over in<b>—</b>Shreveport, right?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“We’ve been there, haven’t we, Al?”</p><p><em>Al the vampire? And I thought “Bill” was a bad name</em>, I thought to myself.</p><p>“We have been to that tavern, Police Girl. Why do you ask me this?” His voice was deeper than I expected, and quite entrancing. Like dark chocolate, or a good red wine, like Bordeaux.</p><p>“It’s for the nice barkeep.” She turned back to me and smiled. “Don’t mind him. He’s just grouchy. It was actually our first stop of the night, and the owner welcomed us personally. She’s such a nice lady. Maybe even a kindred spirit. Anyways, she said that another good place to go would be here and speak with you. So, here we are.”</p><p>I smiled tightly. “Excellent. Well, I’m on my shift, so I’m not quite available<b>—</b>”</p><p>“That’s fine. We just wanted to visit, right Al?”</p><p>“If you must put it that way.”</p><p>She grinned at some private joke. “We’re terribly sorry to disturb you, but I still would like a chance to chat a bit. We have one more stop, and then we’ve got a meeting tonight, so we’ll be out of your hair. Are you available tomorrow night? Say about nine-ish?”</p><p>I ran over my schedule. “I do believe I am.”</p><p>“Marvelous. Well, here’s my card, just call the number on it. I was thinking, meet at Lucille’s? In Shreveport there? I’d like to make a few formal introductions and ask you some questions, and it’s neutral ground.” She grinned brightly and passed me her card.</p><p>I took the card and glanced over it. It was nice paper, with crisp black lettering standing out starkly against the white background. An emblem of a quartered shield in red and black graced the top left corner with a Latin motto under it. The name on the card said Cap. Victoria Drake, of Wingates Investigations Ltd, which had an address in London.</p><p>“That’s an American number down there, so it shouldn’t cost much to call. And please, call me Victoria.”</p><p>There was a number for the main office in London, and below that was the number that Victoria had mentioned. It was a 318 number, so it didn’t count as long-distance. Well. It was highly likely that I was dealing with some international Supe thing. Like, more international than inter-kingdom negotiations. <em>Oh boy.</em> “Um. Thanks. D’you want me to call or<b>—</b>?”</p><p>“I was thinking we can meet at Lucille’s tomorrow and we can explain things.” Another cheeky grin from the blonde vampire, exposing just a hint of fang. “We’re kinda making you lot uncomfortable here, and it’s not a good situation for Al. You do know where Lucille’s is, right?”</p><p>Lucille’s was a new were-run diner in Shreveport. Openly run by weres, not just “shh, run by weres.” There had been some push-back when it opened, but Lucille herself was a werelion who had honed her skills quietly working in high-class restaurants in New Orleans and feeding her pride-mates. She had those two things going for her: culinary talent, and being able to produce lots of food quickly. It had grown on the locals. Sam and I went there for date night once a month. I nodded at Victoria’s question.</p><p>“Great, see you there tomorrow at nine!” She finished the rest of her drink, and raised an eyebrow while her companion, Al Tall, Dark, and Scary finished his. He wrinkled his nose when he finished, and knocked the glass against the bartop.</p><p>“Police Girl, why do you enjoy these concoctions?”</p><p>She shrugged. “Dunno. They’re fun? They don’t taste bad? It’s a great pun? Besides, you chose our beverages at Fangtasia.” She smiled at me one last time as Al flipped his coat on. “Thank you for the drinks, Miss Stackhouse.” Then she turned to leave, good-naturedly bickering with her companion as they walked out.</p><p>I jolted like I had been struck by a cattle-prod. I hadn’t been called Miss Stackhouse since I married Sam. The only people who still called me that were Supes. I was being drawn in again, and it didn’t bode well that I was likely the second person that the pair of vampires had visited this evening.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So if you've read "On Choosing a Fledgeling," this is the crossover mentioned.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Seras</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Telepathy! My general form for minds speaking to each other is: --italicized speech--</p><p>The vampire king here (not Alucard, we're playing with the vampire politics in the Sookie Stackhouse world) has his name pronounced as lan-VAR.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So. She seemed nervous,” I said.</p><p>Alucard grunted.</p><p>“Or that she didn’t want us there at the very least.”</p><p>He grunted.</p><p>“Wonder if Pam left something out when she was talking to us. It seems like Miss Stackhouse had enough of the supernatural world. Which doesn’t explain why she smells of shifter. The whole place smells like Shifter. The same one that’s all over her. I think she’s involved with the boss.”</p><p>“You can just say they fuck, Seras.”</p><p>I rolled my eyes at that. Yeah, I <em>could</em>. “Did you miss the ring on her finger? I only smelled one man on her. Or did you not read the briefing that Bennington gave you?”</p><p>“There were old bites on her neck. She was intimate with at least one vampire. I think it was the Northman. It is a shame that he is no longer Sheriff of this area.”</p><p>“You know what the Northman smells like?”</p><p>“It has been some time since we last crossed paths, and that was at a distance. He is one of the few who are older than I.”</p><p>I whistled lowly. My Master--though I didn’t much think of him that way anymore--was old, as things went. He was about 580 years old, and the Northman was some Viking from the 10th Century. He had five centuries on Alucard, and close to a millennium on me. The Ancient Pythoness was one of the few older still. Any Old Ones <em>I</em> knew, I had known only briefly before they met the sun.</p><p>“Were you not able to detect the trace amounts of pheromones left on her skin, Police Girl?” Alucard asked.</p><p>“I did, but they’re old. And her ring is shinier than her scars. I assumed a past vampire lover who she no longer is intimate with. In fact, she had two, but one of them was fainter and overlaid more strongly than the other. I suspect she had a blood bond with one of them. Therefore, in conjunction with my earlier statement, I surmise that Miss Stackhouse is in a married relationship with the shifter who happens to be the proprietor of the bar<b>—</b>I believe the Merlotte of Merlotte’s. If one is to follow human societal norms, her salutation would be Mrs. Merlotte. She also has children. I’d guess two.” I nodded after finishing my recitation.</p><p>“Well done, Police Girl. You aren’t as dumb as you pretend to be.”</p><p>“No one takes the blonde seriously, sir. Not with a body like mine.” There was a tinge of disappointment that followed that statement, but I shoved it aside. I had grown accustomed to doing so, first in D11 nearly thirteen years ago, and then with the Hellsing Organisation in the years since. The same went with the blush that threatened to stain my cheeks. Living with military men, my Master, and Sir Integra for over a decade had worked its effects on my ideas of proper behavior.</p><p>“Unless the blonde is my Mistress. She’s a ball-buster. You did arrange for our visit with the local werewolves?”</p><p>“That she is, sir. And yes, I did. Called them before we left tonight, and arranged the time.”</p><p>“And walking is the best way to arrive?”</p><p>“Dunno. It’s a nice night, isn’t it?” I smiled. “Thought we’d enjoy a stroll. Unless you’d rather fly?”</p><p>“A walk will suffice.”</p><p>And it was a rather pleasant night for it. The air was balmy<b>—</b>almost uncomfortably warm when compared to England, but slightly better than Rio. It was muggy, and the air seemed to stick to my skin. There was a slight breeze, carrying with it the smell of green, growing things, water, cumin, red peppers, and something floral. The moon was visible, and so were some of the stars in the sky<b>—</b>more visible than what we’d see in the city. Frogs croaked, and fireflies danced like will o’ wisps. Quite pleasant, and Alucard had remembered enough of his manners to offer me his elbow. I had tucked my hand through it, enjoying his physical presence. I suspect it was more for him than for me: thirty years, if not longer, in some hell dimension will do something to a person.</p><p>I inhaled, rolling the perfume of the air around on my tongue. Vampires, shifters, faint bright fizzy things, and smoky spice. I wasn’t quite sure what the faint fizzy brightness was, but I could ask Alucard. The smoky spice I knew to be some form of demon. It was slightly different than the incense Alucard and I carried around on our skin, but close enough to belong to the same race of creatures. Miss Stackhouse had a hint of that, but her natural scent was human with a good dose of fizzy brightness. <em>Hmm.</em> The scent of werewolves grew stronger as we reached the appointed meeting place. Dry fur and musk, but with an overlay of something approaching wet dog. Werewolves then. So Bennington’s information was correct. I should expect no less from Hellsing’s butler, but after Walter’s first two replacements had been sacked for incompetence, and the last one suffered a nervous breakdown, I had grown a bit uncertain. In all fairness, Walter had been, and was, an impossible standard to meet.</p><p>The leader of the pack stepped forwards. “Alcide Herveaux. And you are?”</p><hr/><p>
  <span>I preferred working with vampires to working with werewolves. I’d had some bad experiences. Even though the meeting with the local werewolf pack had gone well. And while it couldn’t be said that vampires were no less monstrous, they were my bread and butter. After all, it takes one to know one, and Hellsing primarily concerned itself with the Undead. Sometimes we had jurisdiction over werewolves<b>—</b>but that was largely when they started to cause mass amounts of undue mayhem. They were just recently “out of the coffin,” and any mayhem that they caused would unduly hurt the species as a whole, reputation-wise. Mayhem traditionally </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> harm the species, but that was why organizations like Hellsing existed. To contain the mayhem. And eliminate it.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Hopefully, our target </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> involve the shapeshifters in this. Their genome had enough random instability as it was. I was not inclined to deal with zombie werewolves any time soon.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I fluffed my hair in the mirror and stuck my tongue out at myself. Cow-licked like always. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> maybe meld my hair to make it soft and smooth and shiny, but that called for an excessive use of power. And we were on a synth-blood only diet here. Not worth it. I could use some hairspray, but then I’d have to go out and </span>
  <em>
    <span>buy</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, and our funds were restricted to necessary purchases. I couldn’t see Sir Integra approving the use of hair spray for a meet-and-greet with an American vampire king, even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> reign over three states. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Problems, Childe?” my master asked smoothly.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No, sir.” I tugged my brush through my hair again. <em>I just look young and unsophisticated and<b>—</b>Cor, I'm </em>35<em>, I've had </em>time<em> to get over this.</em><br/></span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You look fine. Worthy enough to take a bite out of.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I don’t want to show up like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” I hissed. “What would they think of me?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“They are Americans, Seras. You had hair that was only marginally neater than this when you met the Queen.” He leered at me.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“And I was mortified by it then too! Master!” I tacked on as an afterthought. “You’ve drilled me again and again on proper forms of greeting for vampire society, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’ve mentioned that it’s much more rigid than Society is, an’ I’m just a copper from the East End, an’<b>—</b>” I pause, chest heaving. “You saw the Sheriff, right? She looks to be about </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> age, an’ she’s more<b>—</b>” I waved a hand “<b>—</b>fashionable than I am! I’m not a credit to my organization, I’m not a credit to my home, I’m not a credit to<b>—</b>. They’ll just put me next to her, an’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> will think that I’m not worthy to be the Childe of someone like </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You’re not planning on telling everyone who you are, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I may have to if they do not acquiesce to our reasonable demands of a clear hunt.” Alucard inspected his gloves. He had changed<b>—</b>barely. His suit was still in the same style as before, but the materials were more expensive. And he had deigned to wear a cloisonne stick pin in his cravat that matched my dress.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I pouted. “Still. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll</span>
  </em>
  <span> know, and if </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> know<b>—</b>I don’t think I can do it, Master.” Cowlicked short blonde hair did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> go with the forest-green sheath dress I was wearing. Between the cut, and the laced-over cut-out panels that went from below my bust to the tops of my thighs, it was a dress for a mature woman. Modern it may be (and it might clash with Alucard’s suit and jacket, but I didn’t care, I had seen it in a magazine and wanted it), but the hair wasn’t right. It would look better with long, dark, sleek hair. Or softer, curlier hair. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not</span>
  </em>
  <span> something that could be found on a scarecrow’s head. I looked like a kid playing dress up.<br/></span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You will do it, Police Girl. Our target has committed multiple crimes at home, and is liable to do more abroad. Our orders are that he is to be silenced.” --</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t make me repeat myself.</span>
  </em>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yessir.” I put away the things on my vanity. Chin up, I gathered what little I would need to meet the regnant of Louisiana, Arkansas, and Nevada.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>--</span>
  <em>
    <span>You do know the Sheriff of Area 5 is older than you, correct?--</span>
  </em>
  <span> he asked me as he checked his guns one final time. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>--</span>
  <em>
    <span>In vampire years,</span>
  </em>
  <span>--I replied mentally. --</span>
  <em>
    <span>I guess that she was Turned in her late teens or early twenties. Much like me.</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- I tried to keep some slight bitterness out of my reply. Of course she was older than I was. Of course. Stopping World War III from breaking out, preventing a second Blitz of London, all very impressive, but to vampires, deeds mean little. How old you are is all that matters. Didn’t matter that I could blast all their heads off, I was barely out of my first decade, and as such, still dependent on my Master. Which wasn’t necessarily </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> either. I still had an excuse for not doing things the correct way, and I rather did enjoy spending time with Alucard. I still had much to learn. I just needed some freedom. I needed to be trusted that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> actually take care of things. For God’s sake, I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>thirty-five</span>
  </em>
  <span>, helping lead a secret organization and regularly leading men </span>
  <em>
    <span>into</span>
  </em>
  <span> battle. My soldiers </span>
  <em>
    <span>trusted me</span>
  </em>
  <span> with their </span>
  <em>
    <span>lives.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Me. The vampire.<br/></span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Let us go.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I grabbed the briefcase filled with formal papers and trotted to keep up.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Where we would meet the King of Louisiana, Arkansas, and<b>—</b>that’s a mouthful. Let’s call him the Tri-State King. Except that doesn’t work with Americanisms. Perhaps King of LaNvAr? Where we would meet the King of LaNvAr looked like someone had received several briefings on “this is what an English mansion house looks like. This is what an expensive Italian villa looks like,” and decided to smush them together into one garish whole. And it was in </span>
  <em>
    <span>cream</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It stuck out like a sore thumb when compared with the surrounding houses. Clearly, this was the formal HQ.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>cluttered</span>
  </em>
  <span> with random knickknacks. There were plants (fake, I could smell the synthetics), random abstract art (which Alucard looked at with dismay), plush rugs that were actually expensive, and candles everywhere. Considering how flammable vampires are, I thought this extraordinarily unwise. One of Sheriff Pam’s minions showed us into a formal sitting room. We sat on the uncomfortably plush chairs and waited for the King to make his entrance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sheriff Pam was barely taller than I am, and less curvaceous. Her hair was a cornsilk blonde that one sees on the very young, and fell in a shiny curtain past her waist. Tonight, she had held it back with a thin black headband that contrasted with her baby blue suit. Her jacket and pencil skirt matched, her blouse was a complementary shade of cream, and she had stuck a pin with ivy, nasturtiums, and angrec through one of her lapels. Combined with her peaches-and-cream complexion and large watery-blue eyes, Pam looked like she was trying for Prime Minister Barbie. How could </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> compete? </span>
  <span>She inclined her head at our presence, and Alucard took that as an invitation to sit. I did my second-best formal curtsy, and took up a position at my Master’s shoulder. We waited for the King to emerge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"His majesty, Gilbert Archambault!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was about 5’7”, dark haired and dark eyed, with a chiseled face. It reminded me of a celebrity who had (bad) cosmetic work done. He looked like an accountant with quick and crafty eyes and alert posture. The eyesore yellow-red-purple get-up and the excess gemstones were a disguise. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>young, so it did make some sense. But his suit was pinstripe yellow-red over a purple shirt, and the gemstones coordinated with the whole. He had planned this outfit to a T, just like he had positioned himself to take advantage of the vacant throne. He was just dressing the part of someone who ruled over both Las Vegas and New Orleans. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pam got up and bowed. I started to curtsy, but didn’t quite get to where I was intending to go with it. --</span>
  <em>
    <span>You are my Childe, Police Girl. You do not have to bow before him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.-- His fingers were a vice in my mind, and I stopped just a bare degree lower than where I had for Pam. Alucard neither rose nor inclined his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why did he do so for Pam but not<b>—</b>?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I started to think, but there was too much going on for me to follow that thought to its conclusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you that you do not bow?” The King of LaNvAr’s voice had a slight accent to it that I wanted to categorize as vaguely French.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alexei Vladimirescu," my Master drawled. "And I bow before few."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I coughed, and smiled. "Victoria Drake. Both of the Hellsing Organisation."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not recall you being a regnant, <em>Alexei</em>. In either case, you are a guest here, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>thus.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Impress me first. You know why we are here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The vampires in Britain have some difficulty containing<b>—</b>a terrorist, as it were. They were unable to prevent him from leaving their land. Am I correct?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air shifted, and even though I couldn’t see his face, I knew Alucard’s mood had soured. Unless the King of LaNvAr worked hard to make up for this insult, Alucard would barely acknowledge his presence. Or worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Considering that this same ‘terrorist,’ as you call him, is using some of the same tactics as those from nearly a decade ago, in addition to his own nasty tricks, I fail to see the logic behind your statement. I shouldn't have assumed that you kept track of current deeds. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> Americans have your own concerns. Such as squabbling over who can reign over both a desert and a swamp.” Alucard’s tone was decidedly cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The King of LaNvAr’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t otherwise respond. “You tracked him here. What gives you authority to pursue him here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Police Girl, if you will? My partner has the various paperwork for you to look over. In triplicate, if that’s what you prefer.” He settled back into his chair, and I stepped forwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grinned nervously. I was out of my element here. I had never really enjoyed serving writs in my past life. And despite several years of dealing with politics, I still didn't have the hang of it. I had picked up the briefcase, and was uncomfortably aware of how my dress did not mesh with the impression I wanted to give. I shouldn’t have worn forest green with cut-outs and a built in push-up bra. But it was what it was. “Our organization’s lawyer drew these up for us. I can explain what each of these mean for you and your Kingdom. Your Majesty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s not your regnant, you don’t have to be polite,</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- Alucard snapped over our telepathic bond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
  <em>
    <span>Americans do the same to the Queen when they meet her. It’s called being a polite guest. It can get us what we want</span>
  </em>
  <span>.--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
  <em>
    <span>Then we’d best be allowed to continue with our hunt, Police Girl. I grow tired of playing nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>.--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This here is a warrant for the apprehension of our target. You see that we’ve got other forms in this folder. They allow us to cross international boundaries, hunt international criminals, carry weapons, and other related subjects. I have backup copies, of course. Or triplicate if that's what you prefer. Let's go over this first, shall we? It says here<b>—"</b><br/></span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It was close to dawn when we were able to get back to our hotel in Shreveport. I yawned. I had talked about legalese more than was habitual for me anymore, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> was boring work. It had been one of my least favorite things as a cop, unless I was using it as a “gotcha!” It all meant well, and helped to protect the defendant from a gross miscarriage of justice, but when it hindered procuring evidence on someone who I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> in my bones was guilty, I started to lose patience. There was only so much reading of dusty tomes a girl could manage when there were things to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>done.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tired, <em>Pisoi</em>?” Alucard’s tone was teasing. Amazing. I thought he’d be well on his way to falling asleep soon, between the time difference and the discussion of things he had no use for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” I replied shortly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was only chatter and diplomacy. I thought you enjoyed those.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When there’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>point</span>
  </em>
  <span> to them,” I said, closing the door of our ensuite hotel bathroom. “We could have accomplished what we wanted to before midnight, and then used the time until dawn chasing down clues. Instead, we were caught explaining </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> our presence here is essential to all Supes as a whole to someone who would either get torn to smithereens on </span>
  <em>
    <span>Drag Race</span>
  </em>
  <span> or he'd sue Sir Integra for every last penny</span>
  <span>.” I paused as I brushed my teeth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>These bat pyjamas are rather cute, aren’t they?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I thought, seeing my reflection. “Besides, I got out of the practice of delivering warrants when I joined D11.” I opened the door, and walked to my bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My coffin had arrived without a scratch, which I was pleased to note. It meant Alucard’s travelling coffin had arrived in a similar condition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just got into the habit of shooting things and falling victim to a roach’s ghouls,” my Master remarked, voice easily carrying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I scoffed at that. “I’d rarely deliver a warrant, I was mostly used to help de-escalate situations. Hostages, active shooters, and so on. And it wasn’t the ghouls I fell victim to, it was the roach himself. Or is your memory of that night failing you in your old age?” I bit my tongue after the last words left my mouth. It was always a bad idea to rile Alucard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of the retribution that I was prepared for, my Master laughed. “No. It is not. I suppose that makes you a cut above your comrades.” He chuckled a bit. “So. Diplomacy was something you did, but you find it tasteless now? Come, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pisoi</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I desire that you sleep in my room tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I didn’t bother to ask why. It would likely involve me getting hurt, and synthetic blood didn’t heal me as well as the regular kind. I picked up my coffin and carried it into the other room. Alucard had taken his shirt off, and his feet were bare. His hair was loose, and he extended one bare hand to point at where I should sleep. At the foot of his bed. Which, of course, he had dragged his coffin on top of. He raised an eyebrow at my PJs. I shrugged, and blew him a kiss because I knew it’d irritate him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“G’night, Master,” I said, climbing into my coffin and closing the lid.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>--</span>
  <em>
    <span>Good day, Seras.</span>
  </em>
  <span>--</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Credit where credit is due: to possiblythreefourthspeahen and that one note on "the blood of the covenant (both thick and sweet)" for insight as to how old Seras might be (at least in this setting).</p><p>Pisoi= Romanian for "kitten," according to Google Translate.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Sookie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>What does one wear to go and visit vampires on neutral ground? I had known at one point, but that was years ago, in a land far, far away. BC, even. Neal and Adele were racing around the house, getting underfoot. Neal was older by two years, and his favorite game was playing “vampires” with his younger sister. Adele was two, and eight o’clock was just about past her bedtime, even if we had a tendency to work nights.</p><p>“Neal, stop terrorizing your sister and get back here! And Adele! You need to wear your pajamas, honey.”</p><p>“Nah!” Adele said as she raced passed, closely followed by a hollering Neal.</p><p>I ground my teeth in frustration. They were having too much fun to even bother slowing down. I wished this commitment hadn’t come up when it had, but at least I had had enough time to call a babysitter for my two. Who should be here any minute. And I still wasn’t dressed yet. And Sam was at work. “Neal Samuel Merlotte! I need you to get your behind back here now,” I said, using my best manager voice. It sometimes had worked on squabbling vamps, and the effect on human toddlers was remarkably similar. Neal stopped in his tracks. Adele continued racing past in all her nude glory.</p><p>I was glad my baby was comfortable in her own skin, really, but having Shifters in the family tended to produce more casual attitudes towards nudity than I was really comfortable with. After all, to many people, I was still “Crazy Sookie.”</p><p>“And Adele Claudine! I need you to stop running around. It is <em>bedtime</em> for both of you! Lilah will be here any minute and I need both of you to start heading to bed.”</p><p>“Bu' we haven’t brushed our teeth yet,” Neal whined.</p><p>“I need to brush my teeth too,” I said a bit more softly. “C’mon, let’s do it together. And I think Mommy might have forgotten how, so will you show me, Adele?”</p><p>Adele nodded fiercely, blonde curls bouncing.</p><p>“Can you do it while wearing your clothes like a big girl?”</p><p>“No fair!” Adele said.</p><p>“Yes. Haven’t you been looking forward to being a big girl?”</p><p>Adele pouted and scampered to her room. She emerged dressed, and we brushed our teeth. It took a bit of work once Lilah showed up to put the kids to bed, but with the promise of bedtime stories, we made it work. <em>Thank you, God.</em> Sam was already at work, Lilah had his number, she had my number (but she should call Sam first<b>—</b>he’d get there sooner. Besides, I didn’t want to give vampires any incentive to follow me home). We were all set. I skimmed my palms over my full skirt and exhaled. Nothing more to do here. I was wearing a red dress (whenever I wore red, it always made me think of<b>—</b>but that was a long time ago), which was quite suitable to meet Supes in, my scars were on a bit of display (I’ve been in battles and made it out), and my makeup and hair were perfect. I grabbed my phone and keys, and went out to meet with some vamps at a Shifter diner.</p><hr/><p>Lucille’s is golden. The light, the paint, the decor, and the smell of food, it’s all very golden. The vinyl seats and laminated tables might be slightly sticky from the usual Louisiana humidity and the droplets of grease wafting out from the kitchen, but that’s okay. I’ve seen Lucille’s staff, and they are rabid about keeping things clean. The stickiness is the only thing that prevents things (people, dishes) from sliding off any surface they set themselves down on. Each table has a vase with a rotating arrangement of tasteful silk flowers (actual flowers would wilt, and when your staff is mostly Shifters..), and the music is always some mix of jazz, soul, folk, and blues. No matter what time of day you go to Lucille’s, it never feels tired. Not at close to five in the morning, when all the early birds are up and looking to get their breakfasts, nor at nine in the evening, when most humans have started to go to bed. It helps that they serve breakfast for all of the eighteen hours that they are open.</p><p>I nodded at the hostess as I walked in. I recognized her from the brief times I’d been in Hotshot. One of the Norrises, which kinda made us in-laws, but after Chrystal’s death, I hadn’t had to go there much. Jason went once a month, but that’s because Hotshot was relatively safe for him.</p><p>“Hello, welcome to Lucille’s, Mrs. Merlotte. What can I do for ya today?” she said as she snapped her gum.</p><p>“I was going to meet some people here, and I see them over there. Thanks, Marie.”</p><p>“I can at least give you a menu,” she offered.</p><p>“I’ve already had dinner, otherwise I’d accept.”</p><p>“At least for a drink?” Marie’s eyes were large and round. I nodded, and took one from her. It was never a good idea to refuse some of Lucille’s hospitality. It was never exactly clear how she’d take a slight from either Sam or myself, living in the fringes of the Supe community as we did.</p><p>I “tuned” my telepathy to vampire, and traced it back to a booth in the corner. Victoria Drake was smooshed into the corner by Al, her companion. She was talking animatedly, arms waving as she described things. Occasionally, the straps of her white spaghetti-strap top would slide off her shoulder, and she’d distractedly push them back up. A brown leather jacket graced the seat behind her. Al Tall, Dark and Scary listened with an amused air, but I could feel his eyes on me as I moved through the half-full restaurant. Unlike when he was at Merlotte’s, he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. I was starting to wonder if the guy had a serious hang-up on steampunk. He was once again wearing a fancy collared shirt with frills, a red vest, and gloves. He had lost the floppy hat, but his coat was flung carelessly over the back of the booth.</p><p>Victoria finished her story, and turned to watch me approach with a smile. The fine hairs on the back of my neck prickled as the two vampires watched me approach, but I ignored it. They had fed, that much was evident from the two bottles of True Blood they had in front of them. I slid into the bench seat across from them, demurely setting my purse down and smoothing my skirt behind my legs. “I apologize<b>—</b>” I began to say.</p><p>“You’re late,” Al drawled. Victoria punched him.</p><p>“I had to put the children to bed and make sure the sitter had all my contact information,” I replied as coolly as possible.</p><p>“Well, glad you could make it,” Victoria chirped.</p><p>“I am as well. May I order something to drink?”</p><p>“Take your time,” the vampiress replied. She toyed with the straw in her drink idly, raising an eyebrow at Al. He sighed gustily and raised his eyes to the ceiling. I took that as permission. I split my attention between the menu and the vampires in front of me.</p><p>While Victoria seemed mostly normal<b>—</b>excepting her large violet eyes<b>—</b>her companion, even as dressed down as he was, set off warning bells. All this from a vampire named Al. His eyes were rather large for a man, thickly lashed, and a rather strange brownish color that I couldn’t decide if it was hazel or ochre. His nose was rather long and aquiline, and his lower lip was surprisingly full. His hair was rather fashionably cut, given how shaggy it was. I was pretty sure he didn’t care too much about fashion though, and he seemed like he was ageless. He could have been older than I was, but I doubt he was younger. There was something else about him though, something that seemed vaguely false, but I couldn’t quite put a finger onto what it was. It was almost like Mr. Catalides, or his niece, Dianda, but it couldn’t be possible. I noticed the same thing about Victoria, especially in a shimmer near her left arm, but it couldn’t be possible. They were vampires, that’s what they “sounded” like, not demons.</p><p>A waitress swished up to us to take my order.</p><p>“Iced tea, please,” I said.</p><p>“Not orange juice?” Her eyes flicked to my companions’ beverages and then to my wealth of scars.</p><p>“No thank you. But I will take a lemon slice with my tea.”</p><p>“Comin’ right up,” she replied, and swished off.</p><p>I set my menu aside with a definitive tap and gazed at the two vampires. They gazed back placidly. “So,” I said. “What’s so important that you needed to talk to a human like me about?”</p><p>Al’s lip curled, but Victoria blinked slowly. “We’re hunting a fugitive. An outlaw’s a better way to put it.”</p><p>“What, so you’re bounty hunters?”</p><p>“Don’t get <em>paid</em> to do what we do, <em>Zana</em>,” Al sneered.</p><p>“Perhaps we’d better reintroduce ourselves.” The girl smiled. “I’m Victoria Drake, and this curmudgeon<b>—</b>”</p><p>“Can introduce himself, <em>child</em>. Alexei Vladimirescu.” His accent was sharp and spiky. “We specialize in removing scum from the face of the Earth.”</p><p><em>Okay then. Bounty hunter assassins. Or hit men. Great. The Supes have some form of Mafia.</em> I kept my face carefully blank.</p><p>“We’re after a...vampire who calls himself Chernobog. He’s committed certain crimes against humans, and we’ve tracked him to this area. We’ve spoken with the local Supernatural authorities, and our path is clear for us to proceed. However, there is still the human element that we need to account for.” Victoria’s voice was still soft, but the syllables were slightly more clipped than earlier. Her voice was quiet, but pitched just loudly enough for me to hear it over the sounds of the ambient music and the kitchen.</p><p>“Why are you talking to me then? Wouldn’t the local police force be a better option for y’all?”</p><p>Victoria shrugged. “They don’t have the same ties to the supernatural communities that you do. They might have, once, but, well, the Shifters are out of the coffin now too, and humans need to learn how to trust them again. Secondly, Al and I being here won’t set off a turf war with the humans. Thirdly, the local police will be more than happy to let Al and myself take care of Chernobog. However, we don’t need to overcomplicate our lives by stepping on any toes. So we need someone who understands a bit of how Supes operate and then also how humans operate in this area. It also helps that you have your little gift.”</p><p>So I was to be their asset. Oh heck no. This is why I made it a point to avoid headlines and whatnot. <em>All those years of secrecy and for what? So I can be a pawn again? I don’t think so. I’ve risked enough, helping Eric, and I’m not going to do so again.</em> “Excuse me?”</p><p>“We’d like you to be an assistant.”</p><p>“I am not helping you track down an outlaw vampire,” I hissed. “I’ve got a house, I have a job, a husband, and two children.”</p><p>“We never said we needed your assistance in tracking him down,” Al sneered.</p><p>There was a long, shrill, peeping tone. It sounded almost like the emergency alert tests that would sometimes run on TV stations. Victoria started fumbling in her pockets. Static crackled as she emerged with a device.</p><p>“Attention all units, we have a disturbance at the Compton place. Repeat, disturbance at the Compton place. And it’s bloody.”</p><p>I inhaled sharply. My kids’ faces flashed in front of my eyes. “Excuse me,” I said. “I need to go.”</p><p>The two vampires looked at each other. “We’re going with,” Victoria said. “You have a car?” I nodded. “Give me the keys. I’m driving.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dun dun dun.</p><p>A quick note about how I described Alucard here: it is by and large based on historical depictions of Vlad Tepes. As you may have guessed with Seras' eyes, their eye color here is some combination of what it was when they were human combined with the red ascribed to them in Hellsing.</p><p>See you in another two weeks with an update--I just realized that I may need to make some more edits to the backlog chapters.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Sookie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Howdy!<br/>I'd like to start this chapter with a big THANK YOU to all of my readers for this work. You make this whole (semi-crack) adventure worth it! I appreciate the kudos, bookmarks, and even the silent reads. It warms my heart to know that some people are enjoying this as much as I am.<br/>XO, Nokabrenna</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Excuse me, you want my what now?”</p><p>“Your keys. To your car.” The curvaceous blonde vampire was actually serious. Her companion glared at her. She glared back. “Look. I’m a better driver. Secondly, we’re wasting time.”</p><p>“And you smell worried. Police Girl, must we?”</p><p>“Al, you heard that police scanner same as I did. Keys, Ms Merlotte. Now.”</p><p>Something swirled towards my head on invisible curls of air, but I batted it aside. “I can drive myself.”</p><p>“You can. But not as quickly as I can. You navigate, I drive. Keys.”</p><p>I opened my mouth to protest more, but I knew how quickly vampiric reflexes were. And how keen their eyes. “Fine.” I tossed her the keys. “Start heading to Bon Temps.”</p><p>It took a few seconds for Victoria to familiarize herself with my Honda sedan, and then she put it into drive and tore out of the parking lot. I grabbed the “oh shit” handle above the door, sent a prayer to Jesus, and hung on for the ride. If I can best describe how vampires drive<b>—</b>or at least, how Victoria drives<b>—</b>it would be like a bat out of hell. Victoria slid through every light and stop sign as if the wheels were greased. Shreveport is maybe twenty minutes away from Bon Temps. We made it in ten. And without breaking any traffic violations that I was aware of. It helped that Victoria insisted on me directing her on the quickest route. It probably also helped that she was fearless, but it made me worry how much I’d have to pay the mechanic in a few month’s time.</p><p>We arrived at Bill Compton’s house to see the white siding lit up red and blue like someone’s twisted idea of the Fourth. Bill was standing with the officers, white shirtsleeves rolled up, and a look of anxious worry on his face that in another person, made me think he wanted a cigarette. There were spots of blood on his hands, and a smear on his cheek, where I think he had absentmindedly rubbed his face. He was otherwise calm, answering the questions that Andy Bellefleur put to him.</p><p>I grabbed my phone and called the home number. It rang a couple times and my worry spiked. Finally, on the third ring, Lilah picked up. “Lilah?” I asked.</p><p>“Hi, who is this?”</p><p>“Lilah, this is Sookie Merlotte.”</p><p>“Oh! Hi, Mrs. Merlotte! Where are you?”</p><p>“I’m at Bill Compton’s place. Listen, Lilah, it’s a light show here. Is everyone okay?"</p><p>“Yes ma’am.”</p><p>I extended my “range” to check. It was probably over-paranoid of me, but when the vampire next door is shaken, I tend to worry. I could pick up on Adele and Neal’s “signatures,” and they were their normal sleeping signatures. Lilah was there too, and she was reading normally as well. I exhaled. “Good. Listen, I’ll need you to stay there for a bit, okay? Don’t open the door to anyone who isn’t me, Sam, Jason, Michelle, or Bill. I have my phone on me, so don’t hesitate to call if you think anything’s going wrong.”</p><p>“Uh, okay. Yeah, Mrs. Merlotte, I can do that.”</p><p>“Great, thanks, Lilah.” I ended the call and waded through the mass of uniforms to Bill. My heart was in my throat, and somehow or other, I’d lost track of Victoria and Al. There was a lot of blood. The thick copper reek of it got stronger as I came closer to the house. “Bill?” I called. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”</p><p>“Sookie? Sookie, what are you doing here? It isn’t safe.” Bill was panicked, and worry dripped from every line of his being.</p><p>“I know that, thanks.” Upon closer look, he looked paler than his usual self. Now, that may have been the lights, but I didn’t think so. “I got a call, and seeing as it was you, I decided I should see what was going on.” <em>In case I need to plan to protect my babies.</em></p><p>“Sookie...”</p><p>“Mrs. Merlotte,” Andy Bellefleur said. “While we appreciate your neighborly concern for Mr. Compton, we would ask that you please clear the scene.”</p><p>I was going to ask why, and what was going on, in case something was still in the area. Not much can leave a vampire shaken, and that was concerning. Besides, I was still Bill’s neighbor, and Sam and I lived in my old house with our two children. (The trailer behind Merlotte’s had gotten a bit too small once we figured out I was expecting Adele.) I’d argue that point until my face turned blue, and maybe after. I was stubborn, I knew that much. I opened my mouth and was about to give Andy a piece of my mind, sheriff or no, when an eerie howl rose out of the woods and into the night.</p><p>It was the howl of some predator, and it was furious. A chorus of unearthly groans rose underneath it, swiftly mutating to roars as some other creature let out a cry. It was an unearthly, ululating (thank you Word of the Day June 15th) cry that made all the hair on my body rise up into gooseflesh. No human could make those sounds. Nothing except something that preyed upon humans. Every fiber of my being told me to run, and run fast and far before whatever it was that made those noises found me. I shivered, and Bill drew me close.</p><p>I’d have preferred it if it was Sam, but Sam wasn’t the fighter Bill was. And Bill wasn’t half the fighter that Eric was. But I’d take what God had dealt me. It was better than nothing. The police officers tensed, adjusting their stances so they could shoot if necessary, and drawing their guns.</p><p>A couple of shots rang out, and the roars and groans ceased almost as suddenly as they had started. Nobody relaxed. We’d seen enough strange things in Bon Temps, and with vampires and Shifters out of the coffin<b>—</b>well. Strange noises in the night were more of a cause for concern than they had been at least fifteen years ago. But only crickets and cicadas and the distant croaking of frogs disturbed the night air.</p><p>Footsteps crunched on gravel, and we all turned to look. Some of the officers got into a shooting stance. As the figures emerged from the gloom, I slowly relaxed. It was just Al and Victoria. Al had put his strange steampunk sunglasses back on, but otherwise, his appearance was unchanged from earlier. Victoria’s blonde hair was more tousled than earlier, and her white top was slightly twisted and smudgy underneath her cropped leather jacket. They walked with a calm, measured place to where the police had set their perimeter.</p><p>Which, of course, meant that Andy Bellefleur just <em>had</em> to go and be belligerent (another Word of the Day gem). “Halt!” he shouted. “Hands where I can see them!”</p><p>Al grinned toothily. Victoria just looked unamused. However, she slowly raised her hands. It took a few seconds for Al to do so, and he did so in a way that I’d be tempted to call mocking. Exactly who did Al think he was? “No harm intended, Officer,” Victoria said, slowly lowering her hands.</p><p>“Who are you?”</p><p>Victoria opened her mouth. “We’re<b>—</b>”</p><p>“Tourists,” Al inserted smoothly. “Simple tourists.”</p><p>Andy lowered his gun. “It’s okay, guys. They’re harmless.” His officers moved to comply.</p><p>Al strode towards us. Victoria gave him a death glare, but followed, each footstep harder than it strictly had to be. I didn’t quite blame her. I’m immune to some vampire powers, and hypnotization is one of them. Well. Largely immune. Blood connections and blood bonds tend to weaken my resistance towards influence if the one doing the influencing is someone I’m bound to. Which, for better or worse, Bill and Eric both know. However, Bill is no longer a major part of my life, and it’s been years since I’ve had blood from him. Eric’s in a different state, and, well, I severed that bond some time ago.</p><p>“So, <em>officer</em>,” Al said as he approached, smiling his shark’s grin, “what appears to be going on here?” Victoria may have rolled her eyes, but I wasn’t quite sure.</p><p>It was a good question for him to ask. God forgive me, but sometimes curiosity is one of my worst sins. I wanted to know what was going on here too.</p><p>“Nothing for you to concern yourselves with,” Andy said quickly. Al frowned, and Andy opened his mouth again. “Just some intruders. With rapidly decomposing bodies.”</p><p>“Ah. And were these ghoulish little intruders dealt with in a violent manner?” Al jerked his chin towards Bill. My friend flinched.</p><p>“Er. Yeah, they were.”</p><p>“<em>Excellent.</em>” Al’s grin was wolfish.</p><p>Well, that was rather enough for me. I tugged on Bill’s arm. “Walk me home?” I asked.</p><p>“Most certainly, Miss Sookie,” he replied, offering me his arm. “Officer Bellefleur? If you don’t mind, I’ll walk Mrs. Merlotte home.”</p><p>“Oh. Er.” Andy slid his eyes to Al. “Yeah. Go for it.”</p><p>“I’ll have my phone, if you need to contact me.” Bill started strolling away. I took Bill’s arm, and he matched his stride to mine. I felt eyes on me as we walked away, and I turned to look. Certainly wasn’t a human staring at me, I’d’ve picked that up. It was a pair of violet eyes, and a thoughtful expression. Victoria Drake. I suppressed a shudder, though I couldn’t quite say why. I was with Bill, and she was rather nonthreatening, there couldn’t have been any reason.</p><p>It took some time for the sounds from the circus in front of Bill’s house to die down. He was silent, those last few hundred yards to my door. I wanted to ask him what had gone on, what had happened, but his eyes were wide and glassy, and his face was drawn. There wasn’t a good opening for me to do so. I could still “hear” the cops from the Compton place, even though it was a half mile away. Not with any precision, but enough to pick up that they were worried, and seriously spooked. It made me worried too. Finally, as Bill was escorting me up the porch steps, I decided to ask him. “Bill, what happened over there?”</p><p>“Hm? Sorry, Sookie, I missed that. Must’ve been wool gathering.”</p><p>“What happened over at your place, Bill? Why’s everyone so worried?”</p><p>“Just some rogue vampires. I’ll be calling Sheriff Pam about this, but it’s nothing to worry about.”</p><p>“Bill.”</p><p>“All there is, Sookie, swear it. Besides, you’re out of the supernatural world. I don’t want to give you anything else to worry about.”</p><p><em>Well, I have kids here in this house</em>, I thought. It was a good thought, and I told him so exactly. “Bill, Sam and I are raising Neal and Adele here. We want to know if there’s anything going on,” I said gently.</p><p>“I’ll call Sheriff Pam, and we’ll have a look-see. If we find anything, we’ll let you know. G’night, Sookie.”</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Seras</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Setting some of the conflict up for Seras. Themes are ghouls, past traumas, and Seras is in an awkward phase of angst.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi. Please note how the rating and tags have changed. This chapter is largely why. It hews a bit more closely to Hellsing canon, between an absolute douche of a master vampire and gratuitous violence (with gore). It's also a short chapter. For those who do not want to read such, there is a tl;dr in the end notes. </p><p>If you want to read the chapter, but skim the parts with the violence, those parts are between horizontal lines and marked with three asterisks (***) below and above the lines separating it from the rest. Is it overkill? Probably.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alucard was relatively calm the entire time he was talking with the cops. I was impressed by it<b>—</b>and also terrified. The nature of our bond meant I had a direct link into his head, and while he was collected, almost charming, there was a toxic brew of emotions kept at a careful simmer. Which was directed at me. It almost made me sick.</p><p>What had I done this time? Where had I failed? I’d had ten years to get used to my body and grow into being something close to what my Master referred to as a “true Nosferatu.” It wasn’t even close to the order of centuries my master had had, but a decade spent mopping up Nazi FREAKs had to count for something, right? I hadn’t even lost a limb this time. Nor had I gotten snared in ensorcellment. What had I done? I doubt my master would protest at the fact that I had been silent earlier<b>—</b>all to keep the humans out of our way. I knew Sir Integra’s rules like the back of my hand, and the top one was to save the humans. Don’t put them in danger. That didn’t often have much wiggle room (my case being the exception).</p><p>I couldn’t spend all my time worrying. It was unproductive at best, and at worse<b>—</b>. Well. Anticipation was always worse. After all, no use worrying if my neck would be broken until it actually was broken. So I focused on the conversation instead.</p><p>It was almost useless. No more clues than what my Master and I had discovered by sticking our noses in the air and breathing. It was really evident that some supernatural creatures hopped up on blood had decided to attack a vampire’s house. And had been partially eliminated by said resident vampire. No <em>duh</em>. I could see the blood stains to prove it. What really irritated me was that this officer<b>—</b>at least his report<b>—</b>was worse than useless. He didn’t even know what it was that had caused all this havoc.</p><p>Or maybe that was my Master’s irritation and not mine. I was disappointed in the shoddy information gathering, but then, that had been me at one point too. A simple rookie up against a legion of the undead. Unfortunately, this copper was not a rookie, not even a D-11 rookie like I’d been. Secondly, he had the additional benefit of things officially emerging from their coffin. I’d been turned slightly beforehand, and I remember the Organisation struggling to keep the lid on some vampire snuff films we’d come across. From all the preliminary research done on this area, I was surprised that the local cop shop wasn’t as aware of Supes as, oh, say, the cop shop in Winscombe. Winscombe had the unfortunate proximity to Cheddar, but Bon Temps was close to one (1) werewolf pack, one (1) werepanther town, and had a decent proximity to Shreveport, prior home of one Eric Northman. I didn’t<b>—</b>couldn’t<b>—</b>fathom that amount of sheer ignorance. Surely things must have migrated up here after that hurricane five or six years ago?</p><p>So it was with a fair amount of disgust and nervous anticipation that Alucard and I started making our way back to the hotel. The attack came without warning. We were walking through some woods when a whip of shadow stung my cheek. A fist slammed into my ribs, throwing me through the air. I fetched up against a tree, something in my chest cracking. I coughed, and it was wet. I wiped my mouth with a hand.</p><p>“What the bloody hell was that for?” I yelled. Well. At least I wasn’t nervous because something was looming over me. Here it was.</p>
<hr/><p>***</p><p>“You are not to do that again,” my Master growled. He stalked towards me, outline distorted by writhing shadows.</p><p>I blocked another whip of night coming towards me, and braced my feet. I couldn’t defeat him in a fight<b>—</b>I had a decade, he had centuries<b>—</b>but I’d be damned if I took it lying down. “Really?” I said, feinting a blow to his head so I had time to manoeuver. “What did I do?”</p><p>“You are not to be so stupid again.” The feint was only partially successful. He retaliated with a quick kick to my still-healing ribs.</p><p>I caught his foot and twisted it. He went down. “Well, then tell me what I did that was so damned stupid instead of just punishing me!”</p><p>I had a bare second to regret those words. All red fury, like hell itself was fueling him, Alucard was on me. Teeth like knives, fingers like claws, fists and knees and elbows like sledgehammers, and shadows like whips. He managed to break my arm before I retaliated. My shadows lept out of my body to ensnare his, and my fingers were talons aimed at his eyes. I managed to claw one out, and he retaliated with an uppercut that broke my jaw. I took his arm and threw him to the ground. It took some serious thinking to get to the point where I could dislocate his elbow, but I did. Alucard bucked me off, but not before I got a well-aimed kick at his ]kidney. He made it to his knees and sent another bolt of shadows streaking for my eyes. I ducked, but got scalped in the process.</p><p>“You touched my hair!” I shrieked.</p><p>“You should have defended yourself better!”</p><p>A red tide of rage swept over me. I didn’t<em> care</em> that he was my master, I didn’t <em>care</em> that he had so much more experience than I did, <em>he touched my hair</em>. And it was part of some sick lesson to him. I leapt for him, my only thought to rend him limb from limb. Blood sprayed and misted over my skin. I’d run my tongue over my lips, my cheeks, and taste sweet copper heat. Every square inch of me was in agony from cuts, contusions, broken bones, and internal bleeding. My body struggled to keep up with the damage, to heal it<b>—</b>and to dish it back out as good as I got. I knocked Alucard’s temple in, vicious delight swirling through me at the crack of bone, the ooze of blood, the squish of brain under its thin meningeal veil. There was only the barest moment to relish it. Claws lashed into my stomach, ripping and tearing. He grabbed my throat and squeezed and twisted and ground until my neck <em>did</em> snap. I just used the unnatural flexibility and freedom my head now experienced to sink my teeth into his arm and <em>rend</em>. Biting, chewing, grinding, pulling skin and sinew and muscle away from bone, shredding blood vessels and nerves.</p><p>He dislodged me with a slap. I felt my cheekbone break, my jaw dislocate. Shards of bone worked their way near my eye. I lost some teeth. I spat those and the blood in my mouth into his face. I got one hand in between his legs, clawed my fingers, and yanked like I would on a bell pull. He howled as I rolled away. I was reaching for my gun to put a nice group of bullets right in his torso, but he got to me first. We wrestled on the ground, biting and punching and pulling each other’s hair before he finally got me pinned.</p><p>I was on my stomach, injured cheek digging into the dirt. He’d managed to cripple my legs, and he was holding my arms in some unnatural pretzel behind my back. One of his knees dug into the small of my back, jostling multiple broken things. His other leg was splayed out to the side, knee at a queer angle because I’d dislocated it again. He had to use both hands to hold me because I’d broken his arms and fingers multiple times and pulled muscle away from bone. My blood pooled along the leaf mulch, seeping into the rich forest hummus. His blood dripped and plopped on me, ruining my white shirt more than it already was, and threatening to gunk my good eye closed.</p><p>***</p>
<hr/><p>“Do not do that again, Seras Victoria,” Alucard hissed. His accent was back in force, and it should have made the words harsh and spiky, but he’d lost enough teeth that it came out distorted. Blood from his mouth dripped into my ear. I thrashed to get away from it. His hold only tightened. Shadows stabbed into the dirt around me.</p><p>“What,” I groused. “Yank on your bits? You always tell me to not fight fair.” Well, he and Pip did, but eh. Small details.</p><p>“Do not put yourself in a position where you could be killed. Do you understand me, Childe?”</p><p>“I wasn’t going to end up <em>dead</em>, if I was it was because you attacked me out of nowhere!”</p><p>He leaned forwards, grinding my face into the earth. “No. Think back to earlier, Seras. See that you were being stupid and <em>reckless</em>.”</p><p><em>Earlier? Why the hell would he want me to be thinking about earlier?</em> Oh. Right. The ghouls. Something had smelled off when Alucard and I had gotten to the scene. It was a smell I hadn’t smelled in a long time. Since Brazil and the Dandyman and later, Incognito in London. Or perhaps even later than that, when we were taking on the Last Battalion themselves.The smell of sorcery and undeath. It was spicy, slightly rank, and clung to the inside of your nostrils and wouldn’t dissipate. It was the worst sort of miasma.</p><p>I knew a tiny bit of why Alucard and I smelled different than other vampires—my Master in particular. I knew what grey sorcery smelled like, from smelling it on Integra all the time. The smell at the scene was fouler. And it had had the undertone of ghoul.</p><p>I didn’t feel bad for leaving the human behind to go and make her way to the cops. Their bullets wouldn’t stop a ghoul, but from experience, they could maybe slow one down. I had run off, following the scent. I had actually managed to run into a knot of them. I got dogpiled.</p>
<hr/><p>***</p><p>I had panicked when I went down. Of course I did. Hands reaching everywhere, teeth clicking, the groans, that smell<b>—</b>. It’s been a feature in my nightmares for a decade now. Hands grasping, teeth champing on air, all in preparation to rend you limb from limb in the most violent way possible. The claustrophobia of the press of bodies, too close, limbs tangling with yours in some horrible parody of intimacy. That smell everywhere. The tang of blood, the gassy, overripe smell of death mixed with the dry, dusty smell of ghoul. I was buried under bodies. At least they weren’t wearing the Hellsing shield like... well. Like <em>then</em>. (It had been a very bad day.)</p><p>I was stronger than I was then. I’d faced down some of my worst fears. For fuck’s sake, I’d been shoved inside my own head and had <em>my arm </em>ripped<em> from my body</em>. I’d curb stomped that bitch. (Well. More like used her head as a paintbrush for a wall.)</p><p>So I had come up out of my memories swinging. I’d fought my way out from the bottom of that scrum, and I’d started taking down those sonsabitches with my bare hands. Because nothing would alert the lightshow more than the sound of gunfire in the night.</p><p>“What, the ghouls?” I asked my Master.</p><p>He eased off my head a bit. “The ghouls. You were <em>stupid</em>, you were <em>reckless</em>, and you almost <em>died</em>. I could hear you calling out to me to save you, <em>Weakling</em>.”</p><p>“I said nothing of the sort<b>—</b>!”</p><p>He ground his knee harder into my back. It hurt. I had a busted kidney, and my liver wasn’t happy, and somehow he was putting pressure on my pelvis<b>—</b>which was also broken<b>—</b>and breathing kinda hurt too. Even though I didn't need to breathe. “Yes, you did.”</p><p>Fine, so I had let out a war cry as I was getting out of the scrum. That wasn’t a call for help. There was maybe a short exclamation as I went down, but then<b>—</b>. Oh wait. <em>Teeth clicking below the groans, hands reaching, ripping off clothes, groping, the smell of humanity dying beneath the rising dry oily reek of undeath and ghoul. Bright red shields quartered with ebony black, and I know these men, I’ve trained with them, fought with them. But there’s too many and I’m just a girl and there’s hands in my shirt and hands up my skirt and there’s nails biting into my arms as they pull and I know I’ll be ripped limb from limb and one of them’s hard against me. This is how I die, this is how I die<b>—</b>.</em> That’s right. Past had become the present, time and memory acting like a cruel Möbius strip. I had panicked. And I was still bound to my Master.</p><p>***</p>
<hr/><p>“Oh.” The syllable was soft. “Didn’t mean to, sir. I apologize. Got caught unawares.”</p><p>He eased up. “What will you do in the future, Childe?”</p><p>“Take more notice of my surroundings, sir. Be a tad bit more cautious.”</p><p>His body weight left mine. I just lay there on the forest floor, trying not to cry. Healing <em>hurt</em>, this hunt could be more complex than I had anticipated, and I still wasn’t good enough for my Master. I’d had slightly more than ten years and countless missions to prove myself, what did it take? What would it take? I’d rather be under his wing for a thousand years if he had some faith in me to take care of myself than spend a century as some helpless pet that’s only kept around because it’s cute.</p><p>A gloved hand extended into my field of vision. “Come.” Alucard still hadn’t lost his accent yet. “Let us adjourn to our rooms. You would like to be clean, yes?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>tl;dr:<br/>Alucard and Seras have a knock-down, drag out fight because Seras got dogpiled by ghouls and panicked. There is some discussion of nastiness particular to Hellsing canon, namely some things that Seras experienced. The ghoulification of Hellsing's soldiers was /not/ fun for her. There is also some reference to Zorin Blitz and how Seras is now a scary vampire due to some of that experience. I will leave wiki to tell that story.</p><p>The important bits: sorcery has a particular smell to it, and Seras knows what that smells like. She really doesn't like ghouls/zombies much. Alucard still sees himself as Seras' Master, and maybe probably has feelings for her. However, he is horrible at expressing that. Finally, Seras has angst common at some points to young people: she's got some responsibilities and capabilities, and she'd like recognition for that, damnit. Even if her XP isn't as much as some. There's a bit of an adequacy complex here.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Seras</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>No gore warnings in effect for this chapter. Seras is a confused baby who needs time to sort through her feelings.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prepare to have some sea salt and malt vinegar chips (crisps if you're British) with this chapter and Seras' POV chapters for a while.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Good things about being a vampire, or at least being related to Alucard: traveling faster than I had when I was human, and shadows. Shadows were useful things. It made cleaning up blood and gore and dirt much easier. Alucard, of course, could just flip his shadows out like a twirl of a magician’s cloak, and voila! He was clean! Mine were a bit slower. My shadows started at my feet and worked their way up as I trotted after Alucard. He sent a wisp of shadow to clean the blood and dirt and gunk out of my hair, and sent it away again before I could swipe at him. I appreciated the gesture, it meant he was <em>maybe</em> apologizing. Or it meant he still thought of me as the weakling fledgling he had found in that church. I had managed the ghouls on my own, I’d been surviving on my own for ten years, I didn’t need<b>—</b>.</p><p>I huffed, and shoved that thought away. Alucard was my Master and my superior officer, the general rules of conduct dictated that I obey him. To do otherwise was insubordination. Even if I did think he needed his head set on straight about a few things. For one, getting clean is a <em>process</em>, one can’t just snap their fingers and be such<b>—</b>though it may have been that way in medieval times. For another, I was a Captain now. I lead teams to get rid of vampires and ghouls. I had seen more bloodshed and mayhem than any one sane person should have (not counting Millennium) and survived. I wasn't some fledge scared of the scent of blood anymore. I could stand on my own.</p><p>We reached our rooms in barely five minutes. Alucard growled at me to enter mine via his. I was still smarting enough from earlier (and we were also in a semi-public building miles away from Sir Integra and her sphere of influence, she did not need a hole in her budget due to wanton destruction of property by vampire) that I did what he bid. I grabbed my coffin on my route through his room, and wrangled it into mine. --<em>Childe</em>,-- Alucard growled along the bond.</p><p>“I’ll just be a door away, sir. I can’t be with you right now. And besides, if anything happens to me, you know I’ll scream, right?” I said a bit snippily.</p><p>He just gnashed his teeth. I shut the door to the bathroom in his face and locked it. It wouldn’t stop him, of course, but he’d respect the door, or he’d get an earful. <em>And possibly some more restrictions</em>, I thought to myself rather nastily. I fished out my toiletries, and the special bar of soap that Integra had gifted me for my birthday. I’d always loved the smell of elderflowers and Earl Grey (Integra had only intensified my love for that particular smell), and this smelled lovely. It probably helped that there were notes of violets somewhere in there. I turned on the shower as hot as it could go and started stripping.</p><p>My white shirt was trashed. I’d managed to get the worst of the stains out with my shadows, but there were still after images of blood and dirt on it. I could manage to get those out later of course, but I couldn’t do much for torn fabric. Sure, my Master could, but I enjoy fast fashion more than he does. Some things are not worth it. White t-shirts are one of them. Fortunately, my leather trousers were not ruined. I rather liked those.</p><p>There’s something to be said about American hot water geysers: they never go so hot as to be scalding. Granted, my perception of pain was different as a vampire than it was as a human. To me, the hot water felt like the memory of standing outside at noon on a warm day in late spring or early autumn. It did not feel like standing in the direct noonday sun on a hot midsummer’s day, like it would have back home. Small blessings in life. It felt good to be clean. Truly clean, with hair that shone and fresh-feeling skin. The violet-bergamot-elderflower of my special soap blended nicely in the streaky air with the slight vanilla aroma from my shampoo, and the tart grape smell from Alucard’s rooms. I inhaled. <em>Perfect.</em> I swiped steam away from my reflection in the mirror, and froze.</p><p>Perfect. The smell of tart grapes from Alucard’s room with an undertone of wood.<em> He’s drinking wine again. Damn it, Victoria!</em> Nothing I could do about it though, except to shove it in a box with other things (the feel of his body above mine, his hands when he was gentle, and that slight spiky purr to his voice when his emotions shone through). <em>Damn it, Victoria!</em></p><p>I brushed my teeth and slipped into my bat pajamas, taking some time to comb out my hair and apply my cold cream. I only needed to comb my hair and brush my teeth anymore—not like I’d be getting wrinkles or acne any time soon—but the habit stuck. It was one of those things that reminded me I was still kinda human at the core. Still <em>me</em>, and not whatever Alucard thought I was or the new recruits thought I was or Integra’s husband thought I was or Parliament thought I was or any of the vampires and Supes that I associated with thought I was. At least Integra somewhat understood me, but she needed her pet monster. If only to make the recruits and Parliament fall in line and to balance out her husband.</p><p>I retreated to my room, making sure I left the door to the loo from Alucard’s side unlocked. I did lock my door though. Ruffling through my suitcase, I came across the paperback I had packed, my cell, and my flask. Alucard had his wine, and I had... I opened it and sniffed. Gin. I wasn’t in a gin mood. But the paperback and the cell would suffice. I checked the time. <em>Quarter past eleven. Let’s see. Add six—bloody hell, it’s quarter past five in the morning there! Integra should be headed to bed by now.</em> Heaven knew she needed it.</p><p>I still caught myself scrolling through my contacts. I really shouldn’t chat with Integra<b>—</b>even if she had paid for the fancy phone package. <em>If</em> I managed to reach her, and she wasn’t in bed yet, I could expect a chewing-out from her husband tomorrow. If I didn’t, I’d either reach Bennington (bad, but not as bad as Walter had been), or<b>—</b>and I knew they were married, but that didn’t change things<b>—</b>Anderson. Bennington would chide me and make me feel worse than I had back when I was in that orphanage. Anderson would make me feel like I was a sulking six year old again, desperate for a chance to talk to her mum, even though I was thirty years past that, and I knew I wouldn’t see her again. That, and he’d threaten to eviscerate me when I finally got back through Heathrow. Integra wouldn’t take kindly to that attempt, and I had no desire to feel a holy blade again in the near future. And for that reason, it was a bad idea to call Integra. As much as I wanted to—and I did, I needed someone to talk to after.. Well, after this evening. But it was nearing half-past, and Sir should be in bed if she wasn’t already. For now, I had my book to read and enjoy. And maybe some gin too.</p>
<hr/><p>Alucard didn’t talk to me after our fight. When we got up in the evening, and we drank our breakfast of True Blood AB-Neg, he didn’t even acknowledge my presence. I was at <em>least</em> used to a growled “Police Girl” whenever I went into his quarters, both when I was a new fledge, and when he had returned. We went our separate ways after breakfast, trying to search out where Chernobog might be hiding. Well, Chernobog or his right-hand (if mad-scientist Nazi-wannabe vampires can be<em> said</em> to have a right hand).LaLaurie, Chernobog's right hand, was responsible for general mayhem on Chernobog's behalf, throwing anyone who was trying to track the creep off the scent. He was also the gatherer for Chernobog, bringing fresh bodies for his master to experiment on, or finding new hunting grounds. LaLaurie was just as much of a threat as Chernobog, if not greater, except for one thing. He didn't have the maniacal drive that Chernobog did.</p><p>If we found the flunky and squeezed him, we’d be closer to finding Chernobog.The problem was, of course, that it was difficult to find hide, hair, or even scent of Chernobog, his flunky, or their army of ghouls. And if Alucard had found anything, he barely mentioned it to me. Any attempts to find out if he had discovered anything when he went haring off to go do whatever the fuck he did when he wasn’t sulking in his room resulted in him growling at me. “Go away, Police Girl.” If we were in public<b>—</b>which was a rare occasion<b>—</b>, those were the four words I heard the most. He said the bare minimum to me, and we barely talked in private. He had decided to shut himself down, either patrolling separately or having a sulk in his room.<em> Git. Arsehole.</em></p><p>In the meantime, I was trying to be productive. And since we were out of our jurisdiction, hunting a creep who was notorious for hiding, that meant networking with the local Supes. I didn’t mind this part of my job<b>—</b>never had. I found people to be rather interesting. However...</p><p>I know I’m petite. It barely bothers me anymore. I’m also not scared of big, muscle bound guys: that’s just about everyone at Hellsing. The only one I am scared of is Anderson, but that’s for different reasons. Point is, I know I can hold my own against them. And while a girl does appreciate a bit of sympathetic concern over her well-being every now and then, it can get real old, real quick. I mean, <em>c’mon.</em> I spend most of my time with <em>Alucard</em>. He makes an art form out of not caring and pretending that his heart is made of blackest, rock-solid anthracite. But what time I don’t spend with him, I spend with humans who all know that when push comes to shove, I can and sometimes will literally wipe the floor with them.</p><p>Alcide Heveraux was familiar with none of that. My arsehole partner who wouldn’t communicate, or the fact that I am rather capable of taking care of myself. The latter was a major strike against him (besides him being a werewolf). He’s attractive, which was probably my major problem with him. I didn’t mind him being taller than me, I didn’t quite mind him being a bit broader than what Alucard liked to present as, but the condescension<b>—</b>. “Tell your freakish friend to stop trespassing on Pack land.”</p><p>“I will, Mr. Heveraux,” I replied.</p><p>“‘M starting to think you can’t, Miss Drake.”</p><p><em>Well, he doesn’t listen to me anyways, and isn’t going to start now.</em> “I’ll repeat the message to him,” I said, smiling too brightly. I might have flashed some fang. I didn’t mind. I knew what Heveraux saw me as. Same as they guys from D-11 did and same as Pip did when he first met me: a cute blonde piece of ass that wasn’t the monster I claimed to be. I was sure that Alucard thought the same too. Short, too curvy, with a baby face and a tendency to want to see the good in the world with eyes like limpid violets. Put a smiling bird in miniskirted police get-up next to a woman in military casual with ramrod posture and pick who’s capable of ripping your head off and using your skull as a chalice. It ain’t me. I’d love to show them what had happened to Blitz. Or stick my Harkonen up their ass and pull the trigger. I’d taken down things that were nightmare inducing, LIVED, and was still nice and sunny and happy. Maybe I should kill things more often, like Alucard does. Or just shoot holes in things, like Sir. Or throw sharp objects at things that offend my sensibilities, like Sir’s husband does.</p><p>“Just tell me when you catch a strange vampire who isn’t one of us on your land then, okay? I’m sure you have the card and my number,” I cooed at the werewolf, and turned around and left.<em> Infuriating bastard. Yeah, I’m the one making nice because Alucard can’t be fucked to do it, but it don’t mean I control the git.</em></p><p>I decided to go to Fangtasia and talk with Pam. Of all the people I had interacted with so far, she was the only sensible Supe in the area who could maybe understand me. Sookie was on the border of the community, and a lot of things in here scared her. (Plus there were her two sprogs to worry about). Pam looked like a china doll, but she’d managed to make her way to Sheriff. An achievement in its own right, given how badly the political clime around here shifted.</p><p>How could fellow women understand what it meant to be deadly, but not men? It was one of the mysteries of the universe that I wish would stop being so mysterious and clarify itself for me. Figuring out my vampire powers was one thing, but this was something else.</p><p>Fortunately, Pam was holding court over the humans in one of the booths in the back. She’d decided to put her hair up in a wreath of curls, and her makeup was dark and dramatic. Her pantsuit was black silk this time, and she had decided to forego the blouse and just wear the bra. I had to give her credit: her outfit was trampy and classy at the same time. I had only bothered to throw on a seersucker shirt over my crop top and pair it with pedal pushers. I waded through the crowd with a bottle of O-neg. My skin was prickling from all the eyes on me. <em>Really? I dress pretty normally, and </em>this<em> is my reception. I should start wearing suits. And maybe smoking cigars. And probably drink copious amounts of wine mixed with generous amounts of blood. And shoot people who displease me.</em></p><p>“Hello, Victoria,” Pam said, sliding on the sticky vinyl booth to make room for me.</p><p>“Hello, Pam,” I replied.</p><p>“You’re looking well.”</p><p>“As are you.”</p><p>“Not fond of the options that Fangtasia offers?” she asked, nodding at the expanse of the club throbbing under the red lights that bathed the place.</p><p>I tilted my bottle at her. “Not looking to complicate my life with paperwork and unexpected liabilities.” Namely that if a report got back to Integra, and her husband read that either Alucard or I had ended up drinking blood from a live donor, I’d be tasting blessed silver. The first experience hadn’t been fun, but it was slightly better than being shredded like a mozzarella stick by glowing energy beams. “But otherwise I’d take you up on that.”</p><p>“Oh,” she said, moving closer to me and letting the suit jacket gape. “There was something that I hope we could come to an arrangement about.”</p><p><em>I’ll let you know once Alucard really pisses me off</em>, I thought. I shrugged. “Only here for a bit of quiet tonight,” I said.</p><p>“Not picking up the leads you’d like?”</p><p>“No, I haven’t been<b>—</b>.” Below the noise of the music and the crowd, my cell phone started ringing. I fished the bit of plastic out of my pocket. It was the local one. I flicked it open, and answered the call. “Drake speaking, how may I help you?”</p><p>“Victoria? It’s Sookie. We’ve got a situation at Merlotte’s.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am so glad if I haven't scared you away after the last chapter! I've seen the kudos over the past two weeks, and well, it adds a highlight to my day. I'm not anticipating gore like the last chapter for a while, but there will be some things coming up. I will put in warnings in the specific chapter summaries if sensitive material comes up again, and a bit of a tl;dr in the end notes for those who want to avoid such things, but not lose the plot. x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Sookie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>What was Sookie doing before that phone call?</p><p>Content includes some zombies and gun violence. Asterisks mark where it starts. You have been duly warned.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>My shift had started out fairly normally. I was scheduled for the late shift today, which meant Sam could be at home with Neal and Adele, and we could save our babysitting money for when we really needed it. The drive from home to Merlotte’s was a bit shorter than normal, but that’s because we’d started to shift towards one of Sam’s empty apartments in town. It was on Bill’s advice. The attack on his property the other night had unnerved him, unnerved Sam, and unnerved me.</p><p>We hadn’t told Karin about it. My ex-assigned bodyguard had taken to sulking around Fangtasia with Pam a couple years ago, and only came to visit on the weekends. If we saw her at all. Humans and shifters were low on her list of concerns, especially humans and shifters not in any apparent debt to her Maker. Sam and I hadn’t minded her decreased presence, not when we were expecting Adele, and certainly not as much now, with two children. I shudder to think what they’d learn from her. The Stackhouse name did not have to be further associated with oddness. But with the recent attack<b>—</b>it might be a good idea to have Karin sulking around the house again.</p><p>I was debating on whether or not I should call over to Fangtasia after my shift and talk to Pam and Karin. Word of this would no doubt get back to Eric, but he was shackled to Oklahoma. He was in a committed relationship (on at least one side), I was happily married, and we had hopefully come to a bit of a resolution about what our feelings were five years ago. He shouldn’t come running over here<b>—</b>for which I was grateful.</p><p>But that attack at Bill’s the other night<b>—</b>. I was still worried about that. And who could blame me? A good chunk of my life for two years had been devoted to vampire politics. Heck, I’d gotten married the first time due to vampire politics (and I’d divorced due to them too). And if it wasn’t vampire politics, it had been some other form of supernatural politics: werewolves, Fae, witches, heck, even human vs Supernatural politics, I’d seen and survived it all. But there was one thing I knew for a fact: when supernatural heavyweights started making power plays, the body count started to rise.</p><p>So it was safe to say that I was fairly distracted as I tended the bar and kept an eye on the till that night at Merlotte’s. I did see a rather large group come in though. They were all shambling in, as if this wasn’t their first stop tonight. A rare enough sight in Bon Temps, but I didn’t pay it any mind. All I cared about was the fairly sober figure leading the crowd in. They sat at one of the larger tables. They ordered: one pitcher of Pabst. Now, <em>that</em> was unusual. Generally groups like that order more beer, but as I said, I was distracted, and I didn’t pay it any mind. They were dressed oddly<b>—</b>at least the sober guy was. Big black coat that seemed too heavy for a Louisiana summer, and he was dressed like he was trying to outdo the goths of New Orleans. He wore a ruffled Victorian shirt peeking out from beneath the coat and a silk vest that was so deep a plum as to be almost black. He was wearing tight trousers over prissy almost-motorcycle boots with pointed toes, and there were chains and feathers and at least one watch fob adorning the whole outfit. His hair was bone white, slicked back on the sides and top with a stupendous amount of gel, and lying loose around his shoulders. His face was almost skeletal, with eyes in deep pits. It wasn’t an especially pretty face, but I could feel my eyes<b>—</b>and Makenzie’s and Sharisse’s eyes<b>—</b>being drawn to him. His companions were dressed normally for the area, which only served to make the sober goth stand out more. And like him, they were all drawn, pale, and grey looking.</p><p>In retrospect, I should have paid more attention to that. But we were hopping, given the fact that the Rangers were playing, and we had high quality LCD TVs, cable, and an abundance of food and drink. The Rangers were having one of their best seasons yet, and it was worthy of some celebration. Almost everyone from church was there<b>—</b>though some might pointedly deny that come Sunday<b>—</b>, we had some folk up from Hot Shot, and we had some of Alcide’s pack’s more human members as well. Merlotte’s might not be Lucille’s or Fangtasia, but it’s got a good reputation of its own, and tonight, it showed. Sharisse and Makenzie and Arlene were jumping like cats on a hot tin roof just to keep up with the orders. I was half-worried myself that any drinks I was mixing might get an extra dose of salt from the way I was sweating. <em>We’ll probably need to hire a new waitress to keep up with all this</em>, I was thinking to myself. <em>Maybe train up Arlene so she can barkeep, and give her an easier time with the kids.</em> Which was a mighty charitable thought, given what Arlene had put me through, but she’d been working here almost as long as I had.</p><p>The sober skeletal goth stood up. He tossed something on the table, and started making his way to the door. My hands were full of drinks, but I jerked my head towards Makenzie to see if he had paid. I didn’t think he had. Makenzie walked over to the table, and that’s when all hell broke loose.</p><p>The goth exited the building, and his party stood up. The hair prickled on the back of my neck, and I broke out in goosebumps, even though it was a warm evening. I carefully set the drinks I was holding down. I was moving to go around the bar to back Makenzie up when the grey party started moving. There was some undefinable signal, and an eerie howl penetrated the cozy air of Merlotte’s. One of the grey party, an older man in rumpled polo and khakis, had his mouth open. I did not know that such a sound could come from a human throat. It was close to a bellow, and it was hungry. The rest of the party started to howl and bellow too, and a clicking sound arose through the hush of the regular customers. The grey drunks would finish their howl, and their jaws would snick shut. Over and over again. It was as if they were trying to chew on air. Or, seeing the way their jaw muscles flexed, something thicker than air.</p><p>***</p><p>I broke out into a cold sweat. “Sharisse!” I shouted. “Grab Arlene and start getting our customers out of here!” I had my cellphone in hand, and I was dialing...<em> Sam’s home with the kids, he can protect them from there. Who knows if Pam will come, Bill...</em> I found myself dialing Victoria Drake instead. I didn’t even know that I had saved her number. The blonde was pleasant to talk to for a vampire, and she—and her partner in particular—were the scariest people I knew. I put the phone to my ear and looked up.</p><p>I never want to see what I saw when I looked up at Merlotte’s ever again. I thought I was past that when I had turned my back on vampires. It was chaos. Some people had managed to escape. Some were fending off a hoard of what I could only call zombies with pool cues and barstools. Others weren’t so lucky. The zombies had been preparing to chew—flesh. I started dancing in place from anxiety as I beckoned people to me and the back door.</p><p>The line clicked and a young woman answered. “Drake speaking, how may I help you?”</p><p>“Victoria? It’s Sookie. We’ve got a situation at Merlotte’s.”</p><p>There was a crackle of silence. Then, “You’re getting people out of there.”</p><p>I wasn’t asked a question, but I decided I had been. “Yes.” I was busy waving people to the exits as I started making my way to the office. Sam kept a 12-gauge in there. I was good with a 12-gauge. I didn’t fire one often—killing someone in self defense sometimes will do that—but I was good with one.</p><p>“Continue to do so. Expect Al in—three minutes tops. I’ll be there to assist in ten minutes at the outside. Yes, Pam? No, we’ll be fine. Remember to stay calm and collected, Mrs. Merlotte. If you have a gun, I’d recommend getting it.” So she was in Shreveport. <em>How can she get here in ten minutes?</em></p><p>I didn’t have time for further musings. I was in Sam’s office, shotgun in hand. I paused at his desk. Things were hitting the fan, and I was in danger. Sam had installed a panic button for just this reason. Granted, it had been close to six years ago, back when Eric and I...were a thing. It hadn’t seemed like much then, but now... I slammed that button. The notification should go straight to Sam’s cell. I had a second to worry about what he might do, but the zombies were still bellowing in the main room, and we had clientele still in danger. I went to the back door, and checked to make sure it was clear. It was. “Mr. Reynaud!” I shouted. One of our patrons had made it back here. “Can you help me direct people back here? We’ve got an exit. I’ll cover for you.”</p><p>“Miz Merlotte<b>—</b>!”</p><p>“We don’t have the time!”</p><p>“Miz Merlotte, I got a concealed carry with me, I’ll do!”</p><p>I grit my teeth and growled. “Alright, but help me get people OUT!”</p><p>A maniacal laugh shattered the air. It was a deep bass rumble that chilled me to the bone. “Move!” I screeched. “Move NOW and get out of here!” People were only too happy to comply. Mr. Reynaud stumbled back to where I was.</p><p>“Miz Merlotte?”</p><p>“We’re gonna cover them, Mr. Reynaud,” I said, feeling all sorts of grim. “We’re gonna cover them and make our own escape.”</p><p>Shots popped off. Zombies groaned and howled. My fingers tensed around the gun, keeping fingers around the trigger guard. I was somewhere between panting and shaking, my breath coming too fast. Spots danced in the corners of my eyes. A zombie came barreling around the corner to the exit. I shrieked, and Mr. Reynaud brought his gun up. Everything was happening in flashes. Teeth clicking and grinding. A horrible groan, as if from a dying cow. The sharp crack of gunfire. And the zombie’s head exploded like some horrible Halloween pumpkin. A splatter of blood touched my cheek, and I glanced to where the shot could have come from.</p><p>My eyes tracked a long, silvery gun, traced it to a white glove. They skimmed up the red sleeve, danced over the peaks and folds of collar and cravat and up to a pointed chin. There was a shark’s smile on Al’s face. I don’t know how else to describe it. His teeth still looked human, but unnaturally sharp. His lips were curled back in an expression of maddened blood lust. Even through his odd sunglasses, his eyes glowed hellfire red. He leered at me and Mr. Reynaud, and spun on a dime to dive into the next batch of advancing zombies.</p><p>“Let’s go,” I said to my companion desperately. We stumbled out of the back door. The rest of the patrons were sort of standing around, loosely processing the ongoing gunshots and bloodshed inside. Most everyone had gotten out okay, I was glad to see. There was a tamping of footsteps, and I turned, shotgun coming up.</p><p>It was Victoria, blonde bangs blown astray, and carrying a rather large rifle. “Oh good, you all are out here. No one hurt? Marvelous.” she chirped. “Stay put, I think the police are a few minutes behind me. Tell them not to come in until I or my partner reemerge. Any questions? No? Excellent.” And she went into the building.</p><p>I stood there gaping like a fish. First Al, who was hands-down the scariest vampire I had ever seen. No one undead I knew had teeth like that, much less the glowing eyes. And now Victoria. Completely unconcerned about going into a potential bloodbath. While wearing a crop top. The high-caliber rifle did not top my list of strange things I had seen, but I was hoping to high heaven that she didn’t blast a whole bunch of holes in my bar. I finally managed to shut my mouth, swallowed, and turned to my patrons. There was a hint of sirens in the air, so that was good. Victoria had said no one was hurt, so that was good. All we had to do now was wait for the cavalry to arrive. And ignore the sound of gunshots in my bar and undead bellowing. That was good too.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Sookie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sookie's version of self-care after dealing with zombies, vampires, and more screaming and blood than she'd like at work, aka family fluff. Musings on what the hell she should do with Al and Vic, because they are upsetting her careful supernatural-life balance.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I had an absurd amount of texts on my phone. Sam had called the cops, and had texted me to know if I was alright. Apparently the panic button worked like it was supposed to, which was good. Everyone was okay<b>—</b>except for a few patrons who hadn’t been able to run away in time. Sam and I would be going to those funerals. From what I had managed to gather from my “gift,” those funerals would be closed casket. I didn’t want to know any more than that. The local police would continue going over the scene, and maybe they’d call in the supernatural division. Sam and I would call our insurance agent tomorrow, and hopefully have someone go over the bar. There weren’t too many bullet holes in the woodwork, so that was good. Victoria and Al had stayed at the bar to answer any questions that the police had for them. Mr. Reynaud and I had given our statements, and headed home.</p><p>If I was listening to the radio on my drive back, it didn’t register. Neal greeted me at the door. “Mama!” he said, and threw his stubby arms around my legs.</p><p>I bent down so I could hug him better. “Hey, Neal,” I said, drawing him in tight and burying my nose in his coppery locks. I looked up over his shoulder. Sam was there, barefoot in the kitchen, Adele propped on his hip, kitchen light making a halo out of his red hair. He was broadcasting worry, but Adele and Neal were just tired and happy to see me back. “Hey, Sam. Hey, Adele. Sorry for the late night.” <em>And the worry</em>, I thought, but didn’t add.</p><p>“Well, that happens every now and then,” Sam rumbled. “Speaking of, I think it’s bedtime for little cubs.”</p><p>“But<b>—</b>,” Neal protested. It was ruined by his huge yawn and him rubbing at his eyes.</p><p>“Mama will tuck you in and give you a good night kiss, how’s that sound?” Sam said. “Can you help us get started on tucking Adele in?”</p><p>“Won’t. Not sleepy,” Adele pouted.</p><p>“Not even if I read Goodnight Moon?” I asked. “I think that might help Pink Piggy fall asleep. She’s looking tired.” I nodded to the rather large stuffed pig that Adele had in the crook of her arm.</p><p>“Well..”</p><p>“C’mon,” Sam said, heading down the hall to what we had decided would be Adele’s room. “Let’s all read Goodnight Moon together.”</p><p>We didn’t spend much time at this house. We probably would in a couple years, once Neal started school, but for now, it was the place that Sam and I had lived in during our engagement. There were a few photos of us and the kids on the walls, but most of the time, it lay empty. I hadn’t been able to bear the thought of leaving Gran’s home empty and alone, so we spent most of our time there. It showed. Adele and Neal’s respective rooms had only the barest trace of their personalities. Neal’s rocket blanket was spread out on his bed, I was pleased to note as we passed, but his rocket posters and plastic dinosaurs were missing. Adele didn’t have her princess canopy above her bed, even if she had Pink Piggy and Ivy with her. It probably wasn’t the most comfortable place for the kids, but with what happened at Bill’s place, and then at the bar<b>—. </b>As long as we still had one good home to go back to, I’d be happy.</p><p>I read the kids their bedtime story, and tucked Adele in. Sam had taken Neal back to his room and was tucking him in.</p><p>I used that time to decide that I would take a bath. I got the water nice and hot, shucked out of my sweaty work clothes, and slid in. I moaned as the hot water embraced my skin. It felt good, even if it was yet another warm summer’s night. I drew my knees up to my chest, wrapped my arms around them, and finally let the shakes hit me.</p><p>I don’t know precisely when I started to get the shakes after something happened. Maybe it was after Rene had murdered my grandmother, thinking it was me. Maybe it was after I’d been fang-raped by Bill in that parking garage. Maybe it was after that hotel was bombed, and Pam and Eric and I had just managed to escape with our lives. Maybe it was after those fairies (think elves, but much meaner and more murderous) had tortured me. I knew I definitely had the shakes any time there was politicking done with the former King of Nevada. And I definitely had them now.</p><p>I was trembling worse than a leaf on a cold and windy November day. My teeth chattered, even though the bath was warm. Because of that, I kept biting off the low sobs that were tearing their way free of my chest. My eyes felt dry, and yet I was sobbing. Moaning, perhaps, but I tried to keep it quiet. The kids needed their sleep. Should have known it wouldn’t fool Shifter ears though.</p><p>There were footsteps, and then a soft knock on the door. “Sookie?” Sam asked. “Sookie, can I come in?”</p><p>I loosened from my ball, and tried to get my breathing under control. It took longer than I would have liked. “Yeah. Yeah, Sam, you can come in.”</p><p>He came in quietly, gently, closing the door softly behind him. His brainwaves were concerned, worried, and achingly tender, and his face mirrored that. “Hey, darlin’,” he said. “Rough night?”</p><p>I laughed. “Don’t know the half of it.” I wiped my face. It felt wet.</p><p>“Wanna tell me about it?”</p><p>I thought on that for a moment. I didn’t strictly want to tell him, because it meant I had to relive it again. But if I didn’t, then I wouldn’t get some things straight in my own head. And then there were the children to think about. I wouldn’t tell them, but Sam had a right to know. He could take care of himself, and he could protect them if need be. Also, it was his bar that Al had shot up. (Even if we both owned it these days.) Sam came to sit by the tub, and was rubbing circles on my back. The shakes were going down. “Well,” I said slowly, “we had a strange customer come in. More like a group of customers.”</p><p>I recounted the whole evening. Strange, isn’t it, how memory works. Some things that I had noticed during the event I hadn’t known I noticed, and other details became more clear.</p><p>“Why do you say they were zombies, <em>cherie</em>?”</p><p>“I— I could ‘hear’ them, but not. They weren’t voids like vampires, but they weren’t living either. I’d say maybe the closest ‘sound’ is shifters, but shifters are louder and clearer to me. It was like— it was like hearing a fan somewhere, or the fridge. There’s a buzz telling you that it’s on. But there’s nothing that can be done with that, beyond track it.”</p><p>“Good to know Shifters aren’t zombies,” Sam said dryly.</p><p>“Yeah. You guys are—too alive. It’s like listening to a slightly staticky radio to me.”</p><p>“So the zombies came in. Then what?”</p><p>“Well, I called for help. I called Victoria Drake for help,” I clarified. “I don’t know why I did that. Pam might’ve been better, but she’s over in Shreveport, and I could have called Bill, who’d’ve gotten there sooner<b>—</b>and he’d’ve called Pam too. But I called Victoria Drake, and I can’t explain why.”</p><p>“Did she help out though?” Sam asked. It was quite reasonable.</p><p>“Yeah, she did. Well, she sent her partner to help. Al.”</p><p>“Al’s a vampire too, right?”</p><p>I rolled my eyes. As if Sam wouldn’t be able to smell it. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Vampire Bill and Vampire Al. Sure do get some strange types here.”</p><p>I chuckled. “Sure do, honey.” I sobered quickly. “Al’s scarier than Bill.”</p><p><em> Al approaching Andy Bellefleur, smelling of blood and wearing his shark’s grin. I couldn’t see his eyes, but there was a hellish glow behind his steampunk goggles. His teeth were too pointed, and he looked delighted at the bloody red lights and the smears of scarlet on Bill’s shirt. Andy didn’t question much about why Al and Victoria appeared when they did. He asked once, and then something happened. Al in Merlotte’s earlier: teeth polished and sharpened, a visible warning clearer than his gun. His eyes looked like the flames of Hell, and he was delighted by the violence and gore. He moved unlike anything I’d ever seen before: too sharp, too quick, too flexible. It was if he was a marionette controlled by an unskilled puppeteer, but the movements were too fluid for that.</em> It made the gorge rise in my throat just thinking about Al.</p><p>Sam’s fingers tightened on my back, and he was bringing me in to hug. I collapsed against his chest, not caring at all that I was sodden and naked and shaking once again. Sam was warm and solid and smelled safe. He smelled like something from dinner tonight, and a male, salt, and corn-chip smell that was unique to him, no matter his form. “Got scared there, cherie,” he rumbled.</p><p>“Yeah. It’s just<b>—</b><em>Al</em>. He’s a vampire, but he’s somehow worse than all of them.”</p><p>“Worse than Ocella?”</p><p>“Worse. It’s like he’s somewhere between a vampire and something like Mr. Catalides, and he’s bloodthirsty and feral. I suspect someone is holding his leash.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>“Yeah. And Victoria<b>—</b>she’s not exactly normal either.” I had forgotten a lot about Victoria’s idiosyncrasies (June 20) until now. Maybe ‘forgot’ is the wrong word. Maybe ‘repressed’ is the better one. <em>Violet eyes catching the light at Merlotte’s like a cat. The display of her fangs at Lucille’s, even when she was calm and happy to see me. The way that shadows moved oddly around her, especially at night.</em> And when the shadows moved, she forgot about one of her arms. How she too, moved as if air was a medium we were all too clumsy to get through. Victoria was less scary than Al<b>—</b>at least on the surface. But something about her always warned me away from irritating her. Maybe she held Al’s leash? That would be something.</p><p>“You should talk to Pam,” Sam suggested.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Call Pam and talk to her. Or go visit. Been a while.” He shrugged. “They’re vampires, right, Al and Victoria? Figures that they should have introduced themselves to Pam if they’re operating here. And Pam’s been deeper into the supernatural world for longer than the both of us. I’d like to know what her read is on the two of them.” --<em>And if they’re dangers to my family</em>,-- he thought.</p><p>“That’s a good idea,” I said tentatively.</p><p>Sam grunted. “Let’s get you out of the bath, Sook. Water’s getting cold, and you need to sleep.”</p><p>“No hot chocolate,” I asked, trying to smile.</p><p>“Unless you want to wait a while, but I can promise that there’ll be a real-life teddy bear for you,” Sam replied, one of his dimples ghosting an appearance.</p><p>“Teddy bears are all well and good, but I find myself liking collies more,” I said, reaching for the towel Sam offered me.</p><p>“That can be arranged.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A bit of a slow chapter this week, and I apologize for that. I think showing how both of these characters retain some sense of normality after the extremely...messy.. supernatural events they have to go through is interesting. </p><p>Sookie (especially in the later books) always struck me as wanting to remain as normal as possible, and I think that presents an interesting tension in her that can be frustrating at times. So to me, how she regains her equilibrium is by being with her family. Her shakes, I think, would be reasonable, re: Rene Lautier, Debbie Pelt, vampires in general.</p><p>I'll probably take a bit more time to muse about Seras and how I see her and how she might act in this story. idk. see you in another two weeks! x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Seras</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tensions between our two favorite vampires (largely because of Alucard's earlier actions), some exposition.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content warning for some able-ism towards the end of the chapter, and references to Alucard being, well his usual violent self when training Seras.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What the flying bloody fuck is wrong with you?” I screamed, hitting a pitch best described as close to a pissed-off piccolo player.</p><p>Alucard rolled his eyes, trying his best to hide a wince. He was skilled at it<b>—</b>but then he had centuries of practice. And a goblet of Chateau Lafite to hide his face in. <em>Prick.</em> “I am a monster, Police Girl, as you would do well to remember.”</p><p><em>Oh for the love of<b>—</b>.</em> I grabbed my temper. “To most humans, yes,” I growled. “However, that does not excuse opening fire in your usual grand manner in a bloody pub when there are still humans inside. Human <em>civilians</em>. Not the usual mop-up crew from Hellsing. I know you can damn well hear them, so you’d better explain yourself.”</p><p>“I was following my beloved Master’s golden rule: preserve the humans.”</p><p>“By taking direct action,” I finished, bobbing my head along to the words. “Yes, that technically follows the letter of Sir’s directions, but the rules of engagement have changed, Master.”</p><p>“Oh, does this have anything to do with that Judas Priest she keeps chained in her bedroom?”</p><p>I couldn’t deny that Sir’s and the Priest’s relationship was rather, ah, physical. It was awful hard to deny that. However, I knew for a damn good fact that said priest took ops in areas under the Crown's influence that tended to be more Catholic. Anything in Protestant areas was handled by <em>me</em>. “No, it does not. You would know this if you paid any attention at all during your debriefing, Master.” God, that word was hard to force past my lips when I was this irritated. “The world has changed since you’ve been away.”</p><p>“Yes, I am now forced to drink synthetic pig swill,” he said, tilting his goblet.</p><p><em>Asshole. Bastard of a prick.</em> He was drinking bordeaux that could run for nearly 660 quid! Or more! I needed both metaphorical hands for my temper. And to maybe put it in a figurative chokehold. “I was referring to being more circumspect to human civilians, Master.”</p><p>He favored me with a blank look. Honestly, for a man who had sat through so much of history, who had styled himself as a warlord for his human life, and who still had those tendencies<b>—</b>he knew almost nothing. Well, credit where credit was due, he had a fascination with anything new. But he was still as hide-bound as almost all immortals I had run across.</p><p>I crossed my arms and glared at him. “Vampires came out of the coffin shortly after the Second Blitz, sir. After the whole debacle with the Last Battalion.”</p><p>“Not surprised. Why should I be more circumspect if they know of our existence and not merely suspect?”</p><p>“Not just Hellsing. Not just British vampires. Vampires as a <em>species</em>. Part of that development was the open distribution of that synthetic pig swill.” I jerked my chin at the sticky bottle of O-Neg sitting by his elbow. “A big part of its novelty was the open and massive distribution of synth-blood after the Second Blitz. Anyways. Hellsing was<b>—</b><em>is</em><b>—</b>the premier organization run by humans that is associated with a human government that employs supernatural beings and concerns itself in their affairs.”</p><p>“Yes, Red-Eyed Angel,” Alucard said with a leer as his gaze flicked up and down my body. I resisted the urge to mentally slap him upside the head. I didn’t mind the eyes so much, but right now, when I was trying to explain things<b>—</b>. I settled for a sharp mental pinch.</p><p>“Hellsing is now occupying the awkward position of a semi-diplomatic entity,” I said.</p><p>“Not with the Vatican, I hope,” he sneered. “Unless my Master and the Judas Priest have been up to more than they have been. In which case, I never left Hell.”</p><p>“The Priest concerns himself with the Vatican’s needs and Sir’s wishes so she doesn’t try to blow them all to kingdom come. No. Hellsing mostly deals with the supernatural community, who, to a large extent, especially given vampires, are treated as somewhat sovereign entities. We’ve had to cobble a whole framework for Parliament from the Treaty of Westphalia and whatever the Crown has managed to honor with various First Nations. So there’s been some formal diplomacy. However, we still end up doing hard diplomacy because some absolute<em> berks</em> decide that going on a goddamn bloody rampage is a good idea.</p><p>“Which you should have learned in your debriefing. We’ve had to alter our ROE so Hellsing doesn’t get fucking splashed over the headlines of rags like the Daily Mail because we wasted some tick wearing a human suit. We were lucky that in the ten years before your little vacation that you managed to establish Hellsing as the Power That Is in Supernatural Britain. We don’t have to deal with tons of gits trying to make themselves the biggest game in town after the Battalion. But. The local Powers That Be have decided that they need a token ‘please let us clean up this mess that you’ve let fester’ from us before we go in there because they are Out. They have clubs and livelihoods and are slightly enmeshed with the local humans, and if they protest, it takes one good word to the press, and Hellsing’s dragged through the mud again.</p><p>“But we’ve been avoiding that by going after ticks and leaving the humans alone. If we don’t, then Parliament and Penwood and the whole lot of the Circle start breathing down our necks and making life difficult. I have spent <em>too much</em> of the last ten years drafting new ROE and standard operating procedures and all sorts of manuals to prevent ourselves getting massively buggered to have you start messing things up now.” My voice was starting to rise. I didn’t care. “Did you fucking ignore <em>all</em> of the paperwork I had to present to all the local powers? It’s to prevent us having to deal with more than a simple hunt with fucking petty kings and alphas and the lot of them breathing down our necks. Shooting when there are humans present in the building makes me have to do that <em>all over again</em> with the bloody Americans! And Integra will get involved! It will be a whole diplomatic incident on multiple levels and it will bloody well endanger the damn mission!”</p><p>“They were away from where I started,” Alucard replied coolly. “I only came near them when it became clear they were in imminent danger and too terrified. Now go, Police Girl. You are acting irrationally.” There was an order present in his tone.</p><p>I screamed and threw up my hands. I stomped into my room, remembering at the last second to not slam the goddamn door as hard as I’d’ve liked to. We didn’t need a property damage bill in addition to whatever Sir was spending on Alucard’s wine. At least one good thing had come out of the whole fiasco of the evening: we had a lock on Chernobog’s right hand, LaLaurie. And if we had a lock on LaLaurie, we could catch Chernobog.</p><p>Since my absolute berk of a Master had dismissed me, I had time to compile today’s situation report and other things that Integra would need to know for planning. I pulled out my laptop and booted it up. The lock screen was normal boring corporate colors, but I liked my user ID. It was a picture of myself that Pip had taken a long time ago. We were in the hold of some aircraft, and I was laughing at a joke one of the other Wild Geese had told. It had been in Pip’s bunk, tucked just above his pillow.</p><p>I smiled at the image fondly. I was younger then, even if I still looked the same these days. <em>Life had also been a bit simpler then too</em>, I thought, tapping my fingers as my credentials were slowly checked and my settings applied. Ok, yeah, I had been adjusting to the whole you need to drink blood to survive because you’re a vampire thing. And carrying a cannon like a <em>bloody</em> rifle, of all things, in addition to the whole craziness of Nazi vampires and werewolves. It made the whole transition to paramilitary junior officer from rookie Special Weapons and Tactics bobby a little bit sane by comparison. Well, my officer training at least, what there was of it. Alucard, being my Maker and superior officer, was to mentor me. Bastard (and a handsomely scary one, especially back then) had tried in the months he had to whip me into shape. I appreciated it, especially when the world went mad.</p><p>Nowadays.... I was Seras Victoria, Captain of Hellsing’s Regular Forces, nominally a first-class Warrant Officer, and special advisor to the SAS. It was a long way from rookie Seras Victoria, the Kitten of D-11. She had died in a ruined chapel in Cheddar and the rest of her had slowly died over the course of the battle with Millennium. I was what remained--or so I had thought. Who could have predicted that Alucard’s reemergence could have shaken that for me? (<em>Him, the dark and malevolent being I had been dreaming about for near a decade, a handsome devil in vermilion</em>) I hadn’t.</p><p>Admittedly, I should have seen it coming. Murphy's Law, and all that. And Alucard had a tendency to do the dramatic and technically impossible. I was thirty-six. Even if I hadn’t spent half of my life as a vampire yet (that would take another twelve years), I should have some idea of who I was and my place in the world. I thought I had left behind that sort of teenage whinging and dissatisfaction a lifetime ago.</p><p>I was idly tapping my fingers on the desk as I pulled up the secure report-writing program. It was my left hand. I glanced at it.<em> Well, maybe being a teenager is a closer analogy than you think, Victoria. Your body </em>did <em>change</em>. I hadn’t had a left hand, heck, a whole left <em>arm</em> since Zorin Blitz and Millenium. I had developed as a vampire since then, of course I had, even if I wasn’t wholly independent yet and come into my full vampiric powers, and whatever else Alucard blabbered on about. Honestly, his Nosferatu were so wildly different from the standard vampires I ran across in my quasi-diplomatic missions for Hellsing. I was pretty sure most of them couldn’t regenerate easily, yet Alucard could. He considered my inability to regenerate my arm a weakness. I wasn’t so sure<b>—</b>I was more precise with my shadows than <em>he</em> was, even if he had had centuries to practice. I didn’t get it. I was doing the best I could with the information I had, much like every other poor sod on this spinning ball of dirt and water.</p><p>The program finally opened, and I sighed with relief. Might as well report on the fact that we had finally found LaLaurie. And yes, mention Alucard’s disregard of the ROE.</p><p>The sitrep was fairly standard from my end: no major combat actions taken in the presence of civilians, just that I had gotten a call from a concerned citizen, answered, and participated in mop-up. However, where it got more complex was in the comment section. When the world had been simpler, I had used that space to type out my frustrations with my arrogant, cruel, demanding bastard of a master. When I had missed a shot because I hadn’t been sure of it, I’d get punished. When I hadn’t made a kill as easily as he could, I’d get punished. It had eventually served me well in the hell that had been the Second Blitz, but ooh boy, had I resented it. Since making snarky commentary under my breath was dangerous (he’d hear it), I hadn’t been able to resist the comment section. It wasn’t safe, of course: I had to be absolutely sure that the bond was closed down before I did so. And I had rarely submitted those comments. Except when Alucard had egregiously put civilians in danger because he didn’t know how <em>not</em> to escalate. For God’s sake, the scene in the war museum...</p><p>I rubbed my temples, and edited my commentary so it met standards. It was fairly simple: remove every curse and every time I called him a git or worse. It would pass. I clicked submit, and powered down my laptop. A buzz drew my attention, and I glanced over to see my phone vibrating. <em>This had better be good.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ROE: rules of engagement<br/>Sitrep: situation report<br/>Yes, Hellsing is a somewhat paramilitary organization in this world, despite it's government funding. I suppose it's closer to James Bond's MI-6, but with less spies.</p><p>The English language is a beautiful thing: it allows for (I suppose) double contractions like couldn't've, shouldn't've, etc, especially when one gets speaking quickly.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Sookie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sookie calls the girls up so she can find out what is going on in this town. (with a side benefit of theorizing about the newest visitors.) Some musing on courage also included.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ngl, all the kudos over the past 2 weeks? THANK YOU SO MUCH! It was a pleasure seeing all those. Reassures me that I'm doing everything right.</p><p>In the vein of one of my favorite authors, let me thank you the way we like best: more writing.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam gave me the next night off. Technically, I had the next several nights off. Which was good, because I was dealing with vampires. Dealing with vampires is some unpleasant mix of herding cats and pulling teeth and what extraterrestrial diplomacy would be like. Vampires are plenty weird, but aliens would be much weirder. I’ve not met them, but given everything else, I wouldn’t be surprised if there are. Or maybe, they're just demons.</p><p>I had called Pam last night before going to bed. It hadn’t been a social call, as much as I might have liked it to have been. I missed Pam and her sense of humor, but between two full-time jobs, one of which involved raising children, I hadn’t had much time to visit. Besides, I wouldn’t want Neal and Adele going anywhere near Fangtasia, much less around the inevitable politicking that could go on with an area Sheriff. Sam had agreed on that, which was largely why he wasn’t quite part of any local pack, or pride as the case may be with Jason and the werepanthers. We had by and large consciously gotten out of that life.</p><p>However. When a red-coated scary and vicious son-of-a-gun and his disarmingly cheerful arm candy (Lord help me for thinking that, she was as dangerous as he was) show up, followed by some undisclosed event at my neighbor’s place that makes him wig<b>—</b>and Vampire Bill likes to be the cool cucumber<b>—</b>and then my bar gets attacked by zombies and shot up, we have a problem. Yes, indeed we do, and it is a major one. It was almost all the reasons I had turned my back on Eric, on Pam, on the supernatural world rolled up into one perfect storm. It was on my turf. Where my babies were. There was no way I’d let that stand.</p><p>I’d had time to muse about courage during the time I was dating vampires. There had been times when I hadn’t been sure I had it. And there had been times when I was sure I did. I didn’t see myself as a brave person, really. I hadn’t dated a vampire for the thrill of it. I had dated one because for once in my life, there was somebody who I didn’t have to “hear” all the dang time. I dated Bill because it was a respite from the headache I’d’ve gotten from dating a normal guy. I didn’t have to block him out.</p><p>Almost every time I had gone toe-to-toe with some preternatural heavy weight, it was because someone I loved had been in danger. When the Maenad had come to Bon Temps, I had worked my best to expose her and have her brought to supernatural justice because she threatened members of my community. Oh, I had been frightened, of course I had.  I was but a frail human and there were things going bump in the night faster and stronger and scarier than I. I was mixing with things that weren’t quite human, and sometimes, other humans took exception to that. There was a dimple on my torso from when I had been staked by some nutjobs from the Fellowship of the Sun (almost on the same level of despicability that Rene was). There were giant gouges and scars from when I’d been tortured by fae. Oh Lord, I had paid for being a human in the supernatural world. I had gone in maybe half-blind to the dangers, but it was the one place where I didn’t feel like a freak.</p><p>Until I had started to be coveted, like the valuable asset some saw me as. I turned my back on all of it: the blood, the fear, and yes, the love. I had never desired to be anyone special, except for in the eyes of people I loved (and I hoped loved me in return). I wanted to be normal, to be plain ol’ Sookie Stackhouse, and loved and embraced for that. Not because I was a telepath. Not because I had an “in” with the vampires. I wanted a quiet life for myself and my family. Maybe some adventure here and there to keep things interesting, but nothing that would threaten my life and leave me waking up in a cold sweat, wondering when I would next feel something else viciously bite into my flesh. I had just wanted to be normal. And it appeared I really wouldn’t get to have that coveted normalcy.</p><p>Sam and I had managed something close to that, until now. Between the bar and Bill, there was plenty to worry about, and then there were Neal and Adele too... Tears started prickling behind my eyelids. I gripped the sides of the vanity and looked at myself dead-on in the mirror. <em>Pull it together, Sookie. Get that chin up.</em> I was still attractive at thirty-two, if I did say so myself. Blonde hair nice and bouncy, tan vibrant (though I used more sunscreen now than I had), blue eyes still sparkling. My figure had maybe softened at the edges after two children, but I knew men still looked at me and thought I was hot, even if the ring and band on my left hand warned them off. I was scarred, yes, but each and every scar that showed, and those that didn’t, was from something I had survived. Something that I had survived so I could continue waking up and see the day dawn or twilight fall over the world, and those that had injured me had eventually failed to do so. Even if that thought made me sick, there was a small, hard, vicious knot somewhere in me that thought that good. I had faced down power-mad vampires who scared the daylights out of me. I had faced down a gun-toting crazy ex who wasn’t pleased I was involved (however briefly) with her ex-man. I had seen all sorts of terror, and I had come out of it relatively unbroken. I could do it again.</p><hr/><p>I still ended up wearing a power suit to Fangtasia. It was cherry red, the red you’d see on a neighbor’s corvette or something. Red like candy apples and sin. It was a good color on me, even if it reminded me of my ex. But I needed a reminder of that time, and Tara had it tailored just so for every occasion from church bake sales to meeting with potential suppliers for Merlotte’s to when I’d have to go to PTO meetings. Pam merely raised an eyebrow at my outfit. I didn’t do this much, and I was sure that my hair in its braid and makeup from the local drugstore didn’t quite <em>do</em>. I’d be darned if I let that stop me. I rolled my eyes, but softened it with a smile. “Hello, Pam,” I said.</p><p>She was still the same: of course she would be. She had her hair in ringlets this evening, and a frilly lolita shirt. Trying to strike a suitable balance between old and dangerous with the young and sweet that people thought of when they looked at her face. The PVC miniskirt maybe helped, and so did the fishnets. “Hello, Sookie,” she said. “You’re looking...well. Being a mother suits you.”</p><p>“You’re looking well," I replied. "And yes. I do enjoy spending time with my children when I can."</p><p>She waved her hand and let me in. “Of course I look well. Benefits of being what I am. Business is going well so far, which always helps continued health. As for children, never had them, so I can't say. All I have are siblings. Karin’s in town.”</p><p>“Is she? Good.”</p><p>“Hm. I felt it was beneficial, given what’s happened over the past two weeks. What with hunters from England doing a snatch-and-bag, the thing at Bill’s, and now you call me. I feel that the...guests are more trouble than they are worth. May I get you something to drink?” Pam's hand rested on the gleaming black lacquer surface of the bar in a proprietary manner.</p><p>“You know me, Pam,” came a growl from the corner. “True Blood. Warmed to body temperature. AB Neg.”</p><p>“That’s expensive, Karin,” Pam chastised, lips pursed.</p><p>“Less so than getting it on tap,” Karin replied, moving around until she was better in the light. She was an icy blue-eyed blonde, skinny and full of angles that were sharp enough to hurt. She was taller than Pam and I, but better able to remain over-looked. Probably because she liked to drape herself in black, and her handsome features were arranged in a perma-scowl. It was sometimes hard to tell if she had a sense of humor, but she must have had, because it was hard to imagine Eric turning her otherwise. Pam just sniffed, and did as her sister requested.</p><p>I smiled a megawatt smile. It probably didn’t hide that I was nervous. “I’ll just have some water, thank you Pam.”</p><p>She smiled a gracious hostess smile. “Of course. If both of you would follow me; we’ll be meeting our guests in the back.” We followed her to the back, taking the route behind the bar so Pam could grab our drinks. Sparkling water for me, and Karin’s bottle of True Blood. Pam led us to a rather new room in the craftily-managed basement.</p><p>I suppose vampires want a place that is entirely secure from daylight nearby if they spend a lot of time at one location. Bill had his crawl space under his house, and Eric had a light-tight room. I was always impressed when they managed a finished basement. Lord knew how high our water table was. Pam had the light-tight, finished basement managed. I shouldn’t be too surprised. There were plush couches, glossy Baroque-looking tables, and artful arrangements of silk flowers that coordinated with the pink wallpaper. If I had to imagine a Victorian opium den, this would be it. If one overlooked the slick microwave and minifridge in one corner. <em>Vampires.</em> Still wouldn’t hurt to compliment the hostess. “This is nice, Pam,” I said. “I’m impressed.”</p><p>“Are you? Good. We were only able to complete the basement to my satisfaction a year or so ago. Pumps kept breaking and we had to dry things out.” She shrugged. “Karin, your True Blood will be ready in a moment. Now. You wanted to talk about the tourist vampires here?”</p><p>“Pam, you know as well as I do that Al-whatever-his-name-is and Victoria Drake aren’t tourists.” Her brows furrowed and her blue eyes turned icy. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. It was unnecessary and immature. “And no, I didn’t read that anywhere, and no, it’s not a threat or a suggestion of incompetence. You don’t enjoy playing the ditz and neither do I. Besides, this will all go much more smoothly if we just agree on that.”</p><p>“I thought you didn’t do politics anymore.”</p><p>“I don’t. Except someone’s wreaking havoc in my town and near my babies. And I’m having this conversation in the presence of Karin the Slaughterer. Best to keep the bull short.”</p><p>The microwave dinged. Karin got up, extracted her bottle of blood, and raised it to me in a toast. “Skal.”</p><p>Pam sighed. “You’re right. They aren’t tourists. They say that to you themselves, or did you figure it out?”</p><p>“They actually told me. Miss Drake invited me to Lucille’s to tell me as much. They told me they were hunting a fugitive. Have no earthly idea why they’d talk to me of all people<b>—</b>.”</p><p>“Seems they were making the rounds of all the local supernatural people when they arrived,” Pam said as she sat rather daintily on one of the couches. “Seemed like they wanted to cover their own asses in case anything went poorly. You should have seen the reams of paperwork. They even got the King of LaNvAr in on it. And he’s a bastard I never want to see again, even if he did kill the last regal pain in my ass. It was almost as bad as when I was formally made Sheriff. Stupid demon lawyers.” She huffed. “I assume you want to know the cover story they told me? Of course you do.</p><p>“I didn’t really believe they were bounty hunters, you understand. I know my kind has regrettable sartorial choices upon occasion<b>—</b>”</p><p>“It means that she thinks their sense of style bites,” Karin interjected when she saw my face.</p><p>I smiled tightly. “Came up in my Sunday crossword,” I replied. “And before that, it was Word of the Day for May 11th.”</p><p>“Ladies.” Pam said. “Moving along. Al Vladimirescu could be a bounty hunter for all I care, but Victoria Drake isn’t as violent. And besides, why would some bad-ass international bounty hunter be caught dead in a sheath dress with lace-up cut-outs? About the only things that convinced me they were who they said they were were the stupid amounts of paperwork, how scary Vladimirescu is, and how utterly serious they were about all this. Apparently they’re here to hunt someone named Chernobog. And maybe his henchman LaLaurie. Fine, whatever, don’t cause problems. Which I’m only saying because of all the paperwork they filled out. Got their asses just about bulletproof with that, and I’m too busy running a business and managing my own vampires to sit down and detangle all of that.”</p><p>I sipped my water and processed all of that. “Two questions,” I said. “Did you notice anything off about them, and was that all they told you?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I will probably be on hiatus with this until a couple weeks after the New Year due to holidays and other things. I will probably be posting again around Jan 13!</p><p>Best wishes for a happy and healthy Solstice/Christmas/Kwanzaa/New Year!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Sookie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>exposition exposition exposition</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello hello! I said I'd be back!</p><p>Thank you to all of you who read/kudo'd/commented while I was on hiatus here. It gives me motivation to keep this story going. Let me thank you how we like best--</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pam blinked at me. “Well, yes, that was all they told me. Here as bounty hunters for some vampires. Don’t know why, of course: our kind hardly needs the sort. It certainly doesn’t explain Vladimirescu’s ego. As for anything off about them... I suspect, but I’m not sure if he’s an imitator or if he really is<b>—</b>”</p><p>“Shadows move weirdly near them,” Karin said. “Particularly near <em>her</em> left arm if <em>she’s</em> agitated. Or distracted. And near <em>him</em> as well. Their eyes glow as well, particularly <em>his</em>.” She shrugged. “I’ve only seen them from a distance, but they don’t seem quite right for vampires. Something about them makes me wary. Especially around <em>him</em>. It’s like they could attack at any time, without warning. Worse than mad dogs because of how intelligent they seem to be. And <em>she’s</em> even more controlled than <em>he</em> is, so I think <em>she’s</em> even more dangerous.”</p><p>“I didn’t know you were so superstitious, Karin,” Pam said lightly. “I’ve never known you to not use names.”</p><p>“Merely cautious,” she replied with some heat. I watched this interplay with some interest. They knew vampires better than I did, and it was good that Karin had also noticed some of the same things that weren’t quite right that I had.</p><p>“If I may,” I interjected, “they seem to be able to drink things other than blood as well. Drake ordered modified Bloody Marys when they came in. Vodka, garlic, a bit of Worcestershire sauce, and some True Blood.” Karin had looked blank. “That’s not normal, but they ‘read’ pretty much like regular vampires to me. And I know of nothing else that ‘reads’ like a vampire. If there is, I haven’t met it yet.”</p><p>Pam looked at me consideringly. “A good point.”</p><p>“They even smell off,” Karin groused.</p><p>“They can also hear you, you know,” Drake said from across the room. Her voice was colder and more clipped than it usually was. I admit, I jumped. “But both Al and I are vampires, if you were busy wondering. Need blood to be healthy and all that.”</p><p>“So terribly sorry,” Pam said smoothly. “It’s not often we get visitors as interesting as yourselves here in Bon Temps. Please do forgive us for gossiping among ourselves. You know how women are.” She batted her eyes at Al, trying to play off her youthful and wholesome appearance. It apparently worked for Victoria Drake, so I didn’t blame her. Karin flashed a bit of surprise, but it didn’t show on her face. Pam’s combination of prim Victorian lady and cutting Southern Belle was something neither of us had quite expected, even though we should have.</p><p>Al scoffed, but otherwise ignored us as he slouched into a chair. Victoria just smiled tightly. “Your assistant showed us in. I hope you do not mind, Ms. Ravenscroft.” She proffered a bottle of blood to Al, and perched in a chair of her own. Her entire posture was composed and relaxed, an exact reflection of Pam’s own. The effect was jarring. Both women were dressed in miniskirts, yet looked like they should be sitting for tea with the Queen. It was perhaps ruined by Victoria’s swig of blood and vermillion-tinged smile. Her teeth were startlingly shark-like. “Anyways. What was it you wished to talk with us about? If it is in regard to our methods, rest assured, we are rather known for being effective. We won’t cause many disturbances here in regards to your ability to maintain control of this area.”</p><p>“Effective methods?” I couldn’t help myself. “As I understand it, you two are here to catch some ne’er-do-well, and you’ve been here a couple weeks. The vampires I’ve known are rather better able to deal with nuisances in less time.”</p><p>“And do tell, what do you find about our methods that is objectionable, Ms. Merlotte?” Drake saccharinely replied.</p><p>“Over the past week or two, there have been attacks. The first was near my home. The second was just the other night, at my place of work. What exactly is going on here, Miss Drake? Are they the result of your methods endangering humans, or are you unable to silence your target? Either way, it shows you’re as useful as a mosquito in a snowstorm.” I may not have gone to Cotillion and made my Debut when I was in high school, but I knew a thing or two about how to use polished charm to get my way. Adele Stackhouse didn’t raise me to be a fool. I had my share of experience at multiple church picnics and meetings of the Rotary Club and this and that other thing to know how it was most effectively done.</p><p>Victoria blinked slowly, and Al looked like he was fighting back laughter. “Perhaps,” she said softly, words crisper and shorter than before. “Perhaps we have not fully explained the situation to you, Ms. Merlotte. It is not something that we would have liked becoming public. They are still rather frightened of vampires, you understand. We have been silent in what we are hunting so that the humans are reassured and that no one gets any unseemly ideas.”</p><p>“If you would please explain then,” Pam drawled, dripping an arrogance I had only seen coming off of her Maker.</p><p>“We are after a vampire called Chernobog, and his worm of an assistant, LaLaurie. I assume you’ve met LaLaurie and experienced his methods. Chernobog is a vampire, of course, hailing from what is now on the German-Polish border. We estimate he was made somewhere in the late sixteen hundreds. He managed to rise through the ranks to a trusted sheriff, if not advisor to the local lord, even if he was considered...”</p><p>“Harsh on the areas under his control,” Al replied. He was comfortably lounging in his chair, a smirk plastered on his face.</p><p>“Yes. Nothing really much to note there," Drake continued. "He was brought to heel in the inner courts. And so things went until about the 1920s. We surmise that Chernobog was influenced by his transformation<b>—</b>as most vampires are<b>—</b>, the presentation of early understandings of Darwin, and perhaps the mysticism present in small pockets during the previous century. He believes himself to be an incarnation of an old god of his people, from whom he took his name. He believes vampires are the true, final evolution of mankind, closer to gods and thus, more ‘divine’ and ‘enlightened’ than anything else. But that is just his stance on vampires.</p><p>“Sometime during that time, he met...something going by the name of Doktor Josef Blutgruft. Blutgruft was a mad biologist, who ultimately believed his work would benefit humanity. He might have been trying for that before he met Chernobog and his belief system. Regardless, the two came upon the idea that vampires were the pinnacle of humanity. In the 1930s, they encountered a rather mad man named Maximillian Blutorlog in the area of Königsberg, and decided to ah, politically assist him. They worked together for most of the Nazi regime. Blutorlog was interested in the perfect soldier, the Doktor and Chernobog in the perfect ‘man,’ and together they sought to create such through a blend of technology and mysticism. Most of their work was destroyed in 1944,” here, Victoria nodded to her companion, “and it was thought that all men had died. Blutorlog and the Doktor were finally killed in 1999. The next several years were spent purging the world of their inventions. We were unaware of a copy-cat<b>—</b>or in this case, a potential collaborator<b>—</b>until a year or so ago.</p><p>“LaLaurie, born Antoine Pierre Paulin Blanque, is of Parisian extract, born December 7, 1949. By all reports that we have managed to gather, he was a strange, if somewhat sadistic child drawn to darker things in life. We suspect he was changed into a vampire sometime during the late sixties, during a tour of Brazil, in which he went missing. He is described as tall, thin, and rather gaunt, with a penchant for frills and leather. We suspect he reemerged sometime during the 1980s on the goth and punk circuit, but given the sartorial choices of some members of the goth community during the ‘80s and ‘90s, confirmed sightings are rare. He first came to our Organisation’s attention in the 2000s, due to some experiments gone horrifically wrong. There were outbreaks of zombies. However, while everything pointed to a single actor, there was no conclusive culprit.” Victoria tapped her fingers on the bottle in agitation. Her jaw worked a bit, and Al cast a glance towards her. She didn't seem to catch it.</p><p>She continued, “Conclusive evidence that LaLaurie<b>—</b>the name he was going by, after an infamous supposed ancestor of his<b>—</b>was behind the zombie attacks was first obtained in early 2010. Prior to that, there was a wave of FREAKs causing havoc. We determined the actor behind the new wave of FREAK attacks to be a vampire called Chernobog. The strategy shifted in mid-2010, with a wave of zombie attacks matching LaLaurie’s MO followed by a spate of FREAK attacks in Chernobog’s preferred MO. Chernobog is a slippery bastard, and much of the past year has been spent tracking him down. After his stunts, he decided that the States were a better place for him to operate. We’ve been fighting red tape to get over here to eliminate him. We finally tracked him down here, to Louisiana<b>—</b>and a bastion of the backwoods, if I may. And both of them are up to their usual tricks.”</p><p>“Should we be worried about a vampire attack on the human population?” Pam asked, ever the prudent business owner.</p><p>Victoria regarded her levelly, lilac eyes frosted. “Yes. Yes, you should.”</p><p>I exhaled shakily. That wasn’t good. Most of the time, when I had to deal with this crap, humans were the afterthought. Collateral damage. But if vampires were going to be going out and attacking humans<b>—</b><em>waitaminute. Zombies.</em></p><p>“Zombies are dead humans, right?”</p><p>“Yes,” Al replied. His tone was too sharp, and his smile had taken a condescending edge. I could almost “hear” the implied “stupid-human-blonde.”</p><p>“How can vampires create zombies?” I asked.</p><p>Pam blinked, leaning forwards, and even Karin seemed to be highly interested in the response. “There are a couple of methods,” Victoria replied haltingly.</p><p>“Well, we all know about Renfields,” Pam said brusquely. “They make excellent living servants, but don’t make the transition to Unlife well. Often have less brains and abilities than they did when they were alive. Excellent cannon fodder, but rather expensive. And the time invested<b>—</b>.”</p><p>“Renfields?” That was a term I hadn’t heard before.</p><p>“You know vampire hypnosis, right?” Karin asked. I nodded. “That plus a bit of a blood bond, and lots of time can result in a human that is often used as our dayman. It’s a time consuming process, and therefore, not generally favored by nomads. It’s being phased out since we came out of the coffin for largely political reasons.”</p><p>“Then there’s the traditional method,” Victoria added. “The methodology varies from practitioner to practitioner, but the result is the same. A person dies. Their will is supplanted by that of who controls them. And they are determined, deadly, and just all around bad news.”</p><p>“You omit ghouls,” Al said softly.</p><p>“Ghouls?” I asked.</p><p>Victoria shuddered. “Bitten, drained, and half-turned humans. Dead shells animated by the will of the vampire that killed them.” Al’s smile was wider and more merciless than I liked. “They sometimes are able to pass on the contagion of vampirism. Much more deadly that way, but for them to be truly effective, one would need to form a legion of them.”</p><p>None of this was good. None of it at all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Some notes on the names of some characters and some of the back story given:<br/>Doktor Josef Blutgruft--Hellsing character (the Doctor) that I decided to make a name for. "Blutgruft," roughly translated is German for "blood crypt/vault."</p><p>Maximillian Blutorlog--another Hellsing character (the Major) that I decided to give a name for. The wiki for Hellsing states that an unofficial name for the Major is "Montana Max"—but that's not sufficiently Prussian, given how old this character is. "Blutorlog" is further germanic lego-ing: per dict.leo.org, "Orlog" is an archaic term for war. And well, I couldn't resist a reference made to a certain 1922 film directed by FW Murneau. (Say "Orlog" out loud.)</p><p>Königsberg:where (in this story at least) the Doctor and the Major started their work. Königsberg (now Kaliningrad) was a city in former East Prussia.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Seras</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>angst and a hunt</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I hated meetings and paperwork and politics. Unfortunately, all three made up my job these days. There were times that I wished that vampires hadn’t come out of the coffin. My master was<b>—</b>surprise, surprise<b>—</b>unhelpful with the whole affair.</p><p>--<em>Why do we need this absurd amount of paper and legal scribblings, Police Girl?</em>-- he had asked on the long plane trip over. At least I wasn’t nailed into a coffin this time.</p><p>“So we don’t get fucked by some petty princeling saying we stepped on his toes. This is an international affair, you know,” I had replied. It seemed silly to me to use telepathy when we were in the same cabin, sitting calmly in our seats, and watching the clouds through necro-tinted glass. Sometimes the strings that Sir Integra could pull<b>—</b>despite the budget that was more limited than she liked<b>—</b>were useful. Even if I couldn't get myself an armored vehicle with a mounted gun to scare the new recruits with.</p><p>“Why should we bother to meet with the sheriff and human?” he asked petulantly as he slouched out of his room and into the humid night.</p><p>“Because it’s the civil thing to do,” I replied shortly.</p><p>“Wouldn’t they be better served if we got rid of the mad cockroach and his imitator?”</p><p>“Yes, but they wouldn’t be inclined to work with us in the future.”</p><p>“We<em> are</em> the best.” <em>And I happen to be a prince among princes</em>, I was sure he wanted to say. Even if I knew it already, the conceited prick.</p><p>I settled on, “They’d do so with reluctance, and it could make our job harder.”</p><p>“It’s my mistress’ duty to smooth the waters,” he said with a wave of his hand. “We are merely to search and destroy, carrying out her will for Queen, Country, and God. If one believes in such an omnipotent being that moves in incomprehensible ways.”</p><p>“We don’t need to make her job harder. And I seem to recall that <em>you</em> have at least some belief in the omnipotent incomprehensibility,” I shot back. I got smacked for my cheek. I wasn’t surprised. It was better to be smacked than anything else Alucard might have tried when I was still a new fledge.</p><p>“Why do I have to make nice with the human,” I asked shortly after I hung up on Pam earlier.</p><p>--<em>Because YOU didn’t quite explain yourself as well as you would have liked, Police Girl.</em>--</p><p>Like I needed the input. <em>Chrissake, I spent a few sodding hours going over with the local authorities</em> exactly <em>what the hell they should be doing to assist us so we don’t get in this mess,</em> I thought to myself. Unfortunately for me, my shields were nowhere near what they should be. Ten years of solitude, with very few Nosferatu testing them, and now, within a month, I need to build a fortress. I mean, I practiced it often enough when I was younger.</p><p>--<em>Well, clearly you're not the diplomat you thought you were. Or you’ve had too many lawyers mucking things up for you.</em>-- He didn’t bother hiding his amusement from me. Yeah, I had been tasked with making nice with the various functionalities when I wasn’t helping out the humans under my command when I was a new fledge. Yes, such training (though for talking with people like, y’know, the local busybody) had been part of my curriculum when I was working with Scotland Yard. The point still stood. Why was it my task when Alucard had proven he was capable of learning how to charm information out of people without strictly resorting to violence?</p><p>The meeting hadn’t gone well for me either, if I had to get into it again. I hadn’t expected the local sheriff to be exactly polite<b>—</b>after all, <em>American</em>, even if she had been raised under Queen Victoria back in Merry Old. Still, most vampires, I felt, would make a point to greet their guests. Especially if they had managed to notice they were hosting such personages as my Master (and to a lesser extent, myself, as one of his very few surviving Children). And then having to explain Chernobog and LaLaurie<b>—</b>.</p><p>Alucard wasn’t precisely fond of Chernobog<b>—</b>he suspected him of, ah, subjugating Mina. That was his phrase, not mine. And Alucard was highly disappointed that after all the hard work both he and Walter had done to destroy Millenium’s lab back in 1944, the fucker had managed to get away. Oh, I knew that feeling. I wasn’t fond of the mad vampire either. His interest with the occult had indirectly made certain months of my life very unpleasant. First his influence on the damned Doktor, and vice versa. I don’t think that madman would have gotten his interest in the occult and vampires without him, much less the patron willing to allow such experimentation. And I don’t think Chernobog would have gotten any of his present ideas without the Doktor. Secondly, the mad Major Orlog was another of Chernobog’s little proteges<b>—</b>though somehow in the next 55 years, that had decreased. And finally, Rip. Admittedly, Rip was more of a minor nuisance.</p><p>Still, those three men had been the overseers to so much pain and suffering that I was glad they were dead so that God or whoever could deal with them. Preferably by sending them straight to Hell to be Satan’s munchies for all eternity while their balls slowly withered and snapped off due to the cold.</p><p>And fucking LaLaurie. I had dealt with psycho pretty boys in my time. I still had to deal with one: my mentor and boss and Maker and a whole other snarl of relationships that I didn’t want to look too closely at. I felt like I knew the type: out for blood and to seduce the poor innocent. LaLaurie was more likely to kill the innocent, and encourage the same in his subordinates. I was half-sure Paul the SAS FREAK had been one of LaLaurie’s. We’d crossed paths a time or two, LaLaurie and I, and I was always left feeling like I should scrub myself with steel wool afterwards, because a Brillo pad simply wouldn’t do. <em>Slimy seductive sadistic bastard!</em> Thank God it had happened while Alucard was...wherever in whichever dimension he was. I don’t think I could have looked at him afterwards.</p><p><em>It makes you upset, don’t it?</em> My internal, too logical voice cooed at me. <em>That a bastard like LaLaurie could turn you away from Alucard? Or are you lying to yourself about being glad your Master was gone?</em> I shelved that in the overflowing mental box of things I didn’t want to look at too closely. It was easier to do when I was out hunting. I could give myself to the turn of the planet beneath my feet, quick impression-bursts of smell, the whistle of the wind in my ears, and quick shadow-cutouts of trees. My third eye dilated, contracted, as my shadows rose in a pair of deep claret wings. Running at night, hunting my prey: that had always been my favorite part of being a vampire.</p><p>Alucard was off in the trees to my left, perhaps 25 meters away. I could see him in flashes, a crimson blot of subtle wrongness as he ran and lept through the trees. I shouldn’t have found it as comforting as I did. There wasn’t anything resembling comforting about the man. And yet<b>—</b>he was the one who had come upon me and the ghoul and saved me, that long ago night in the Cheddar woods.</p><p>--<em>Do you smell it, Police Girl?</em>--he asked. I sent a confused impression of old blood, incense, undeath, and sulfurous ghoul-reek back to him. It was a smell I had perhaps smelled once before, in the catacombs of a failing zeppelin. And it was heading out towards the swamp<b>—</b>or perhaps bayou, as it would be called here. Alucard cackled. --<em>The hunt is on!</em>--</p><p>I was damn glad of it. Finally something to take a bit of frustration out on. At least the call late the other night had borne some fruit. A couple steps, a leap, and I was soaring through the air. Integra and I had been to the Royal Ballet a time or two, and when I was younger, I had envied the dancers for their seeming weightlessness. If only they could see me now, leaping through the swamp. The scent of my prey was a thin ribbon, guiding me over hillocks and through the trees.</p><p>It thickened and coalesced somewhere deeper in the swamp. The ground was firmer here, and the croaking of the toads and frogs filled the humid night air. Insects whined and buzzed, and a few fireflies drifted like will o’ th’ wisps through the trees and over the water. The air was strangely cooler here, and my skin prickled, fine hairs seeking to rise. I didn’t break out in gooseflesh<b>—</b>my body didn’t work that way anymore<b>—</b>but I slowed my stride, third eye dilating. There were odd shapes on this hillock, sticks poking out of the ground at regular intervals, stones mounded with care. I sniffed, drawing the air deep into my lungs. There was a ghost of old rot, and the chalky minerality of bones. A breath of black pepper drifted across my tongue, chased with rum, all-spice, and stolen incense. Faint magic, warning me to not disturb the peace of those who rested here. An old grave-yard, forgotten on its island in the bayou. I turned, seeking the wrongness that brought me here.</p><p>A shape moved. It wasn’t my Master<b>—</b>it was the wrong silhouette, besides not moving the way he did. And there was the odor of my quarry: old, flaking blood, incense more smoke than perfume, sulfur, and the peculiar reek of undeath. Something about it was off, didn’t quite match what I knew of LaLaurie, but it was close enough. I settled myself, drawing my shadows in just enough to not frighten him off. Thin tendrils drifted through the grass and ghosted along the water as I matched my movements to the environs around me. <em>Nothing to see here, no sir.</em> I couldn’t sense where Alucard was<b>—</b>that was good. I hoped. I drifted closer to my prey, slowly easing my modified 9mm from her holster and clicking off the safety.</p><p>I didn’t always do live captures, but when I had to, the 9mm was better at making my prey sit and be good when I came to collect. Of course, the Harkonnen could do that too, but that tended to be more along the lines of “fuck you, stay down.” I slowly raised the gun up, taking care to aim carefully. Silver bullets could kill, after all, and I wanted this guy for questioning. There, right in the left thigh, then follow the rise to the shoulder. I slowly started to squeeze the trigger. This was always the meditative part, where I could collect myself. Once I shot, all hell would break loose.</p><p>Or all hell would break loose<em> now</em>. Of course it would, what with the crimson tosser as my back up. Alucard rose out of the darkness and tackled my prey, ruining my shot.<em> Fuck.</em> I clicked the safety back on and ran towards them.</p><p>They were tussling now. Our target was struggling to get away, raining punches down on whatever part of Alucard he could reach, occasionally attempting a kick. Alucard just grinned, teeth a too-white brilliance in the gloom. He took the punches, trapping our target’s arms until he struggled enough to wrench them away. The sick, meaty popping noises of joint dislocation and reduction and the sharp cracks of breaking bone provided a disturbing percussion to the chorus of amphibian life around us. I approached cautiously, the gun held out and low.</p><p>“You can shoot him, Police Girl. It won’t hurt.” Alucard looked too pleased with the situation.</p><p>“Dunno, it’s blessed silver,” I replied. “I could have had him, you know. Cleanly.”</p><p>“But this is so much more fun, isn’t it? Pest can struggle all he wants, and he won’t go anywhere.”</p><p>“Well enough for you, but I<b>—</b>” I inhaled sharply. There, underneath the undeath and incense and blood was a different smell. Something that was close to sorcery, but not exactly it. Something green and cold. “This isn’t LaLaurie.”</p><p>“No, I think we have captured far older prey, <em>pisoi</em>. Far older. And yet,” he said, scruffing the struggling vampire and holding him at arm’s length, “far weaker. I confess myself to be rather disappointed. But he’ll bleed all the same. They always do.”</p><p>The vampire’s face caught the moonlight in his struggles. We didn’t have many pictures, but we did have an idea of what Chernobog looked like. Blond hair, cropped close. Strong cheekbones. A hooked nose. Rotten teeth that immortality didn’t cure. Long, grasping pianist’s fingers, peeking out from beneath the voluminous sleeves of a priest’s cassock. And his totem, free swinging on a chain: a tarnished silver hammer, and crescent moon. We had one of our vampires, and it wasn’t the lackey.</p><p>That bad feeling was back again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>pisoi: modern Romanian for "kitten."</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Seras</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>An interrogation doesn't go to plan, Seras angsts, and a conversation with Integra. Also, some discussion of Mina Harker nee Murray.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi all! Sorry this is on the later side--life has been life (Friday in particular. Oh boy.)</p><p>For those sensitive to such things, the gore and Hellsing-typical violence tags are in effect for this chapter. To be on the safe side, skip the first 2/3 until the page break with asterisks above. And some ableism in the form of discussing a missing eye vs a missing arm in the latter 1/3.</p><p>On a less-serious note: Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you all are enjoying a day filled with warm fuzzies, especially those of you in the US enduring the recent polar snap.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I clenched my fist and tried to resist the urge to punch the hapless vampire chained to the chair in front of me. The interrogation wasn’t going well. Not only had Alucard captured our target, he had charged me with finding the interrogation location, and then using the silver chains to lash Chernobog down. My hands were still prickling from that. Okay, fine, I was the junior officer, but this was a mission that <em>I</em> was taking point on, damnit. Bring Alucard up to speed on how to do things in the New World Order. Find and eliminate a threat to humanity. And do it in adequate enough time so I could be back in London by the time Integra was due.</p><p>I wanted to <em>punch</em> a pillock. Send ‘em ricocheting into next week. Alucard wasn’t asking any questions, just taking his sweet time torturing Chernobog. I was forbidden to speak. Seemed some grudges needed to be aired.</p><p>“Well? What did you do after you found her? Exhumed her, obviously, but then what else? What other foul perversions did you do to her to create your sad little army of freaks?” Alucard purred, twirling the flechette knife between his fingers. Chernobog’s hands and forearms were a mess. Fingernails violently ripped out, and strips missing from the tender inner skin of the wrists. There was a spray bottle of holy water that Anderson had blessed on the rickety table next to Alucard’s hip. Drips of watery blood beaded the arms of the chair where Chernobog was sitting. One thing could be said for this abandoned hunting/fishing/whatever shack: no one was around to hear the screams. I was just happy Alucard hadn’t told me to light a fire yet so he could really go to town.</p><p>“That sad army nearly killed you and your weak human mistress, O Prince,” Chernobog chuckled. “Thinking of one for yourself? Sad to say that secret died with Max and Napyeer.”</p><p>“What did you do to <em>her</em>?” The knife struck and scarlet sprayed. Chernobog just laughed and laughed. “She was not yours to toy with, Dark One. She was <em>mine</em>, bitten and bound by blood,” Alucard snarled.</p><p>“Oh, oh, she was, my Prince! But she turned her back on the path of Angels, turned her back on the Divine, so she could spend her life crawling in muck with that mewler of a human. She needed to learn the true nature of Divinity! And if you wouldn’t teach her, my Prince, <em>I would</em>. And her children! O, her children by me were perfection in and of themselves. Never was a father more proud of his children!”</p><p>“They were<em> freaks</em>, and they deserved death, <em>unul intunecat</em>. And they weren’t <em>your</em> children in the first place, or have you forgotten?”</p><p>“Yes, yes, that weakling Napyeer helped. But they were <em>mine</em>! I raised them right, to worship God in all His glory as is meet for ones like us.”</p><p>“They are not like <em>us</em>. They were foul perversions of us! And you used <em>her</em> to do it! Mina!” Alucard’s voice broke on a rage-fuelled howl, and the knife rose high again. I could see the trajectory in my mind’s eye, how it would end on a plunge into Chernobog’s heart. I could see Alucard wrenching it, causing as much damage as he could before removing it and ripping Chernobog’s head from his body. My Master’s shadows were wild, canine forms flickering where light and dark met. His hair was longer than accustomed, curling in an unholy breeze, and his eyes were the crimson of hellfire.</p><p>--<em>If you wouldn’t mind refraining from killing him until later, there are some questions I’d like to ask.</em>-- I left the words frank, slotting them against the walls inside my Master’s mind.</p><p>--<em>He<b>—</b>MINA!</em>-- A rush of images followed. A young woman, who looked rather like I did, with eyes of limpid blue. Petite, but filled with conviction that made her seem taller than she was. Her hair was sun-streaked in such a way that I almost thought she had been blonde when younger. Feelings attached to the images: chuckling whimsy, sudden lustful possession, and deep, burning resentment. It was almost enough to choke on. No, Wilhelmina Harker neé Murray might be long dead, but she was never truly forgotten.</p><p><em>Could he ever<b>—</b>?</em> I stomped on that thought hard, swallowed the words burning in my throat. --<em>You’ll get your revenge later. I promise. I have some questions I need to ask him. And if you would let me do that, I’ll be happy.</em>--</p><p>--<em>No. He needs to suffer. He needs to PAY.</em>--</p><p>Why did I feel like I was the responsible adult in charge? --<em>He will. His death is yours.</em>--</p><p>--<em>It had better be. He escaped me fifty years ago.</em>--</p><p>I firmly bit my cheek. Even if the reply was telepathic, it wasn’t a good idea to voice that it was closer to sixty years since Chernobog had escaped Alucard’s wrath. Besides, he had his thinking face on. It wasn’t a good idea to disturb him while he was trapped in thought. --<em>Integra wants this man dead,</em>-- Alucard thought at me.</p><p>--<em>Yes,</em>-- I replied.</p><p>--<em>But there is an accomplice you want found too.</em>--</p><p>--<em>Yes. And I need to question him to find the accomplice.</em>--</p><p>--<em>Bloody females.</em>-- Alucard withdrew slightly. A slight chill smile played at the corners of his lips. Chernobog’s eyes were wide and round in their sockets as he withdrew. The knife was still dripping wetly. Alucard ran his tongue up the flat, careless of the silver wrought into it, lapping up the blood. “But perhaps I can put Mina aside for now. After all, we have an eternity to come to a reckoning, don’t we, Dark One?”</p><p>“What, so your latest strumpet can practice her techniques on me? Thought you liked them faithful, my Prince. Especially ones that look like her.”</p><p>I socked the blighter roundly. A spurt of claret jetted from his mouth, followed by a fragment or two of rotten tooth. I squelched the feeling of nasty satisfaction. “Oh, I’m faithful alright. Just got a few questions for you, and then you’re all his," I growled.</p><p>"Tell me, O Prince, I don’t seem to recall you allowing fledges to be this uppity.”</p><p>“Well, you’ve never met mine.” I suppressed the flush of pride that came with that statement. I <em>was</em> Alucard’s. His first in nearly a century. And his only surviving Childe.</p><p>“I also know that there are very few that you’ve allowed to drink your blood, and I don’t think this one has. I know <em>she</em> did.”</p><p>“Police Girl, if you would?”</p><p>“With pleasure.” I sunk my fist into Chernobog’s solar plexus. It wouldn’t really do much<b>—</b>dead lungs were only fine mesh bags of flesh<b>—</b>but the brain remembered. Chernobog doubled over in his chains, wheezing. “That’s for insulting my Master. And so is this.” I yanked his head up. <em>Oh God, his hair is greasy!</em> My fist met his nose with a satisfying crunch. “Now, we’ll get down to business if you don’t mind. There’ll be time for taunts later.”</p><p>I turned away to the table, and rolled out the cloth case that I had stuck in my shadows back in London. It was sometimes good to live in a house run by a very unconventional noblewoman and occupied by a medieval warlord. You’d get special props like actual brass tacks. Except mine were made of silver with brass electroplated on the parts I had to touch. I left them glinting in Chernobog’s peripheral vision as I turned towards him. It sometimes made me sick, the methods of questioning that I had to use in the line of my work these days. However, it was expected of me. The older ones expected such barbaric methodologies. I was associated with the Hellsing Organisation, which wasn’t renowned as being kind to vampires. The looming shadow in the corner of the room with a too-sharp smile was the third reason. “You will tell us everything you know, and some things you don’t before I’m done,” I said. “Now. Why exactly are you in the United States?”</p><hr/><p>I had sent my Sitrep off to Integra as soon as we got back to the motel. Now I was lounging in the bath, shadows muffling the locked door. I inhaled, breathing in the scent of cooling water, elderflowers, bergamot, and violet laid over a fading tang of iron. If I opened my eyes, the tub would be filled with slightly cloudy, pale scarlet water, and there’d be prints on the rim from where my arms were laying. It probably wasn’t a good idea, taking a long soak in a hotel tub<b>—</b>I could have just showered and been done with it. But I needed...something. Especially given the movie playing behind my eyelids.</p><p>
  <em>Dry-stick crack of fingers as I bent them too far back. “Where is LaLaurie?” Grinding, gristly pulp rolled beneath my touch as the thumbscrews tightened. “Where is LaLaurie?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Screams, harsh and broken, mangled underneath broken teeth. “Ludazulamort! Ludazulamort! Oh God, please, please! I swear, Lady, that’s where he is!” His voice was cracking, the harsh consonants of the past breaking through his words.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And where is that?”</em>
</p><p>I opened my eyes, staring at the cool white rim of the tub. The hellish movie continued, even though my eyes were open, the scene shifting.</p><p><em>Splatter of cold, dead blood against my face. I licked my lips reflexively, and nearly gagged. Sometimes, the blood of a vampire was almost pleasant, closer to a good glass of port. Sometimes it was harsher, like a cheap red. Chernobog tasted like vinegar and faint sulfurous rot. Alucard was a hellequin shadow above him, fingers dripping viscous blood. His smile looked painted on as one hand raised a poker high, eyes blazing hellfire. “</em>Asta este pentru Mină<em>!”</em></p><p>I had been covered in blood when we got back. I was pretty sure there was a rim of it in the sink from when I washed my hands earlier. So much blood. And for what? I had barely gotten a clue of where to look for fucking LaLaurie. LaLaurie, the whole genius behind the plan of releasing zombies into the world. Not fucking Chernobog. If anything, Chernobog had been the little lab assistant for LaLaurie. So <em>that</em> was all bollixed up. At least Alucard got to have some pretty vengeance he had been sitting on for the past<b>—</b>likely 70 years. Whenever he had noticed that Mina wasn’t where he had left her.</p><p>And here I was, left, covered in blood that wasn’t my own, clutching the tatters of a clue I might have staked my life on. It was disappointingly usual when I was dealing with Alucard. He’d swoop in, save most of the day, and I was left, sangrine-soaked (and not sanguine about it, if I was being poetic about things), grasping onto battered and broken dreams with the faintest hope it would keep me from drowning. That I wouldn’t succumb to the tide of blood and become the monster that I always feared I would be. That there was something still bright and gleaming and hopeful and, perhaps, pure in this world of horrors that we lived in.<em> Fucking zombies, fucking LaLaurie, fucking Chernobog. Fuck all of it.</em></p><p>I hoisted myself out of the tub and pulled the drain. My skin was maybe cleaner than when I got in, but it wouldn’t stain the towels too badly. If it did, there was always cold water. The terry cloth robe was maybe warm, but it was cozy. The flask of gin I had in my room would help too, even if I couldn’t really get drunk anymore. Gin and a trashy romance novel that I’d probably pass back to Integra so she could laugh at the horribly written vampires. Yeah. That sounded like a nice evening.</p><p>***</p><hr/><p>My phone was ringing on my nightstand. I finished yanking on my pajama top and glanced at the handy hotel alarm clock: 5:00 AM. I grabbed for and opened my phone<em>. Integra’s number. Why is she calling me at 11<b>—</b>forget it.</em> I answered the device. “Victoria speaking.”</p><p>“Hello, Seras. I just received your sitrep.” Integra’s voice was cool and cultured over the line, slightly distorted by the bouncing from satellites and radio towers.</p><p>“Ma’am.”</p><p>A sigh. “Seras, I don’t want to discuss the particulars of it just yet. It is too damn early for this, and I haven’t been sleeping well.”</p><p>“Baby’s not due for another<b>—</b>” I quickly calculated. “Three weeks, isn’t she? And what are you doing up if you haven’t been able to rest?”</p><p>“Correct. I’m full enough to burst, and she’s active. Haven’t been able to sleep properly for the past few months. I know you think it’s early for me<b>—</b>”</p><p>“It is, if I may be frank, mum. You don’t typically go to sleep until close to three, if not half-past four most nights. By all rights, you should still be sleeping right now, if you don’t have any meetings planned.”</p><p>“Well, I’m not and I don’t, so as they say, just deal with it, Police Girl.”</p><p>“Yes, mum.”</p><p>Another sigh. I could almost see her, fingers drumming on the gently expanding abdomen tucked underneath a smart jumper, even though it was midsummer. “I’m calling because I skimmed over the sitrep and, well, Alucard’s been broadcasting. I can rest assured that he won’t go on a rampage?”</p><p>“No, he won’t, mum.”</p><p>“Good. At least that spot of violence was good for something. He’s been off ever since he got back.”</p><p>“Of course he would be.”</p><p>“He’s also<b>—</b>and I’m ascribing human emotions to something that proudly isn’t human<b>—</b>he’s worried about you, Victoria.” Alucard, worried about me? The words fell into the silence between stars. “Victoria? Seras? Are you still there?” Integra’s voice seemed to come from far away.</p><p>“Yes, still here, mum.”</p><p>“I just don’t know what’s gotten into my vampire. Yes, I know he spent the past ten years doing thirty in some form of hell dimension. It’s enough to disconcert anyone, even if they don’t have the past that he does. But when it comes to you<b>—</b>”</p><p>“Ma’am, if I may<b>—</b>”</p><p>“He never has quite seen you the way he sees me.”</p><p><em>Of course he shouldn’t</em>, I thought. <em>I’m the Police Girl, the unplanned-for Childe, the protegee who still can’t do everything right.</em> I clenched my left fist. <em>He doesn’t even trust me to conduct an interrogation properly, even though that was a basic covered in the academy.</em></p><p>“He sees you as someone special to him.”</p><p>I couldn’t quite contain my thoughts. “The first thing he does after being gone for a decade was to go and see <em>you</em>, mum. If I may be so bold. No ‘Hallo, Seras, how are you?’ No offer to see me. Just a pat on the head like some child you barely remember or have time for or a pet! You are his Mistress, and it is perhaps out of line, but<b>—</b>”</p><p>“You’re his Childe. Yes, I have read my great-grandfather’s research on the Maker-Childe bond. Truly amazing, the lengths a Maker may go for his Childe<b>—</b>” The anguished scream of “Mina!” rang in my ears. “<b>—</b>even to the point of regenerating limbs for them.”</p><p>I bristled. “Mum. I wouldn’t really<b>—</b>”</p><p>“Yes, yes, I know how sensitive you are about your arm, Seras. I think it is<b>—</b>”</p><p>“Integra. For both of our sakes, please stop that line of thought. I know you would kill for your eye back, but my arm is not your eye.”</p><p>A gusting sigh. “Very well. If only because I don’t think I would have remained sane these past years without you, Police Girl. I only wanted to call to let you know that Alucard is concerned about you.”</p><p>“Duly noted, mum. I’ll make sure he is less concerned about me in the future.”</p><p>“It must be close to dawn there, so I suppose you are tired. And exhausted from earlier. I bid you good day and a restful slumber.” There was some noise in the background of the line: angry Scottish noises and the ineffectual fluttering of the butler. Honestly, the man should learn to not get in the way of Anderson, especially when he thought that Integra was doing something Anderson thought hazardous to her health.</p><p>“Good day, sir,” I replied. “And best of luck on today’s reports and paperwork.” Another sigh, and the line went dead. I ended the call and stared at the phone in my hand. I was tempted to throw it at the wall. It would be more productive if I slept. At least my pillow of grave dirt from my parish could hear all my confessions of frustration.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TLDR: Alucard and Seras interrogate Chernobog. Alucard uses that time to air some 70 year old frustrations regarding Mina Harker's disinterment. Seras is highly disturbed by the very bloody "interrogation"/reckoning, and does some self-care. Integra calls—and doesn't quite make things better.</p><p>Romanian notes:<br/>unul intunecat= dark one, Chernobog's title/ use-name.<br/>Asta este pentru Mina= This is for Mina!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Sookie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>family, voodoo, and plot movement.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Okay. So I seriously needed to adjust my worldview again. I had known that vampires could create Renfields<b>—</b>it was one of my biggest worries when I was dating Eric. How much could he influence me through the blood bond? It was still one big step from Renfields to zombies. And a step yet again from zombies to ghouls. I shuddered. Some things <em>really</em> shouldn’t exist.</p><p>I called Bill. He was the local vampire, after all. Even though he was interested in tracing various lineages and the history of vampirism in America, he should have heard of someone like LaLaurie. If not, he should have heard about ghouls and zombies and the like in regards to vampires. And since there was a very firm amount of what I could only call magic going on, I emailed Amelia Broadway.</p><p>My ex-roommate had moved back down to New Orleans after Katrina (and after some stunts of hers that I don’t look on fondly). According to her last email, she was doing fairly well: she had tenants, her craft was progressing well, and she had a new girlfriend. She was also fairly pleased about her father’s continued absence from her life. I was pleased about the last as well, and I was pleased that her craft was going well. There had been a few instances where it hadn’t, and it made those close to her rather upset. At least her coven was helping to guide her.</p><p>I didn’t expect Bill to get back to me right away, and it would also take some time for Amelia to get back to me. So while Sam was out at the bar, assessing the damage done and taking more photos, I stayed home with Neal and Adele. I also had to get some work done—call the insurance people to get their adjuster out, arrange people’s schedules, other bits like that—but I could work that around nap times. The scheduling thing I could even do while I gave the kids some coloring books to work on. So there I was, graph paper laid out for a spreadsheet, pencil in hand, and the laptop up and running. I was absentmindedly gazing at a rough tally of how many hours everyone had worked that week, and how many they needed to work while Neal and Adele chattered about how to draw a collie. Neal, simply because he’d gone to a few pre-Kindie daycare classes, considered himself the expert.</p><p>“An’ a collie’s gotta have ears, ‘Dele, an’ yours doesn’t!” he was saying.</p><p>“Bu’ I drew a doggie! See!” She thrust her somewhat crumpled sheet of paper at him. There was a brown, blobby, almost puzzle piece looking thing on it surrounded by random patches of color. I supposed it was a dog, if I thought about it. Rather like seeing shapes in the clouds. Any of those modern, abstract artists could be put to shame by my youngest.</p><p>Neal’s bottom lip protruded in a way that I knew meant trouble, and Adele had her mulish toddler look on. Best I got them sorted before they started throwing crayons at each other. “That’s a very good doggie, Adele!” I gushed.</p><p>“But<b>—</b>” Neal said.</p><p>“Neal, you drew doggies like that when you were as big as Adele,” I replied sharply.</p><p>“But it’s<b>—</b>”</p><p>“How about you draw a doggie, and Adele colors it? Would that work?” Neal withdrew his lip and nodded quickly. Adele considered it, and then nodded. I smiled. “Good.”</p><p>My computer dinged.<em> You have mail!</em> The sender was itsamyb, and the subject was “Local voodoo expert?” Exactly what I was waiting for. I figured wrangling schedules could wait a bit.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Hey Sook,</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Geez, you interested in voodoo? Can’t blame you from what you said last. It’s an interesting branch of Craft, but it’s not really my go-to, despite growing up here. I had to ask around a lot to see if anyone knew of anyone near Shreveport who isn’t too scared of vampires. It took some doing, let me tell you! You’ll want to go hit up Marie Reynolds. She runs Samedi Dried Goods by the Red River. Seems she’s the only one who’s any good in the area.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Anyways, Nadine and I are doing well. We recently adopted another cat! Wishing you and Sam and the kids well. <b>—</b>Amy</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>So Marie Reynolds of Samedi Dried Goods by the Red River? I could do that.</p><hr/><p>It took more internet searching than I was willing to admit to before I was able to find the place. It was in a slowly gentrifying hick area on the banks of the Red River that reminded me a bit of Bon Temps. The main drag of the hamlet was surprisingly dusty, cutting the midday humidity rising from the river. Samedi Dried Goods rose out of the midday haze in white shingle and glowing green shrubbery. The tarmac in front of the store was empty, except for a canary-yellow land yacht that had seen better days. The signs in the window advertised Camels, Marlboros, and chaw; Jack, Budweiser, and Busch; Purina, Pedigree, and Hill’s. Liquor sales were to be done before 6pm Monday through Friday, 10-4 on Saturdays, and not at all on Sundays. There was a farmer’s market on Wednesdays. Dogs were not allowed inside unless they were service animals. They ID’d all shoppers.</p><p>I went in through the swinging glass door. A bell chimed under the soft blues playing over a crackly speaker. The front of the store had maybe been a patio at one point before it was converted into a check out area. There were three registers on a long bench over to my left. Across from them was a tired vintage refrigerator urging me to drink Coca-Cola set next to the glass-fronted cases full of tobacco products. There weren’t any magazines near the check-out counter, but there was a limp stack of the local gazette in a wire basket next to the slowly congealing candy display. A woman was sitting beside one of the registers, staring at the cards in her hand. The dim light made it look as if she was carved out of teak heartwood. “Bridgette, that you?” she asked.</p><p>“Erm, no,” I replied. “I was wondering if you could help me with something? A friend of mine referred me here.” I nervously crumpled the print out of Amelia’s email in my hand.</p><p>“Well, <em>cherie</em>, spit out what you want.”</p><p>“I was wondering if Marie Reynolds works here?”</p><p>She turned and looked at me. “Who’s asking?” The full force of her gaze hit me. Her eyes reminded me of the bayou at night: deep, dark, and full of unplumbed secrets. She tilted her head, and the light caught the zig-zag of grey streaking up from her temple. It perhaps blunted the effect of those old eyes in that young-seeming face, but not by much.</p><p>“Sookie<b>—</b>” I started.</p><p>--<em>Sookie.</em>-- She looked me up and down. --<em>Stackhouse, I’m guessing.</em>--</p><p>“It’s Sookie Merlotte these days,” I said weakly.</p><p>--<em>Well, Lafayette coulda described you better. But I suppose it’ll do.</em>-- “What’re you here for, girl?”</p><p>“Wait. Wha<b>—</b>?” I started.</p><p>The shop bell clanged again. “You would not <em>be</em>lieve the line I just went through, Mama!” A young woman strode in, beaded dreads swinging in her wake, raffia bag dangling from her shoulder. “Oh. We got a customer?” --<em>Why?</em>--</p><p>The woman behind the counter got up. “Go punch in, Bridgette, there’s a girl. I think this girl’s here for me.”</p><p>“<em>Mama</em>--.” Bridgette paused, frozen between the back of the store and the enclosed patio where her mother and I were still gazing at each other.</p><p>“She’ll do no harm to me, but she’s a bad omen. I should be able to turn it. Now, if you’ll let me attend to this customer<b>—</b>.” Bridgette crossed herself, but did as she was bid. The proprietor approached me and held out her hand. “Seems I forgot my manners. Marie Reynolds. Now, if you’ll follow me, I believe I can assist you.”</p><p>I followed Marie back into the slightly dim store. The shelves were narrowly spaced and stacked high with anything from flour, red beans, and rice to toilet paper, Tums, and Windex. There was a wooden door with a wired-glass window set next to the refrigerators marked “employees only.” Marie pushed the door open and I followed. There were a few rooms back here: a break room, a stock room, and an office or two. She led me into the one at the end of the short hallway. There was a paper-covered window allowing the barest breeze of river-tainted air into the close room. It smelled of rum and cigars in here, with the faintest underlay of vanilla. Marie flicked the switch on the wall, and the ceiling fan above slowly whirred into life. I looked around the office. There was Marie’s desk, which she shuffled behind to sit at. Behind her, next to the window and resting on a card table crouched protectively over a filing cabinet, was what I could only describe as an altar.</p><p>It was set up like a triptych. To the left was a picture of Lafayette Reynolds set over a small votive candle. I felt a slight jolt seeing that picture. He’d been murdered going on a decade ago. I pinched myself for not quite remembering to lay flowers on his grave<b>—</b>even though I’d brought his murder to the justice that only God could give. In the center was an elaborately carved plaque of wood, featuring crosses and strange symbols. To the right was a small statue of the Virgin Mary cradling the Christ-child, her hand raised in benediction. On the table’s surface itself was a beautiful embroidered cloth underneath a polished copper bowl, a lighter, and a deck of tarot cards. Marie caught the direction of my gaze and threw a small cloth over the card plaque.</p><p>“Now, Mizz Merlotte, since you’re here, I want to see your hands.”</p><p>“Why?” I asked, taking a cautious seat on the other side of the desk.</p><p>“Hands tell a lot about a person, an’ I wanna make sure I ain’t gonna offend the<em> loa</em> or bring down bad luck if I help you.”</p><p>“Uh, sure, I guess,” I said, offering them to her.</p><p>She took them in her soft-looking hands. There was muscle under there, well hidden, and I was pretty sure it was the same with the rest of her, too. She turned them this way and that, palpating and prodding. “You’re right handed, aren’t you?”</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>“Air hands, no doubt with that shape. But I feel those calluses you’ve got, missy, and you’re a grounded sort who enjoys simple and fine things. Aloha from OPI?”</p><p>I blushed.</p><p>She continued turning them and looking at them. “You’ve got a good dose of faith, and you can lead when you want to. You’re responsible, and whatever wisdom you’ve gained has come at a cost. A bit of a Pollyanna, I’d say, and good with people. Not a bad person at all, though you sometimes might be petty, you regret when you have been.”</p><p>Her mind was buzzing, filled with thoughts<b>—</b>but I couldn’t “hear” any of them. Not like I had been able to earlier. She wasn’t a shifter<b>—</b>not tangly, opaque static. She sounded<b>—</b>human, but muted somehow. <em>How had she got me so tangled up and wrong-footed?</em> She smiled, a warm one like buttery sunlight in winter. “I’ll help ya, Mizz Merlotte.”</p><p>“You got all that from my hands?”</p><p>“And bits and bobs of what my baby brother said. You find his killer, Mizz Merlotte?”</p><p>“I did, yes.”</p><p>“Brought them to eternal justice?”</p><p><em>How was she echoing my earlier thoughts?</em> “I did.”</p><p>“Good. The <em>loa</em> said you might have done so. I just wanted to hear it meself.” She settled back in her chair. “So, Mizz Merlotte, what can I and the <em>loa</em> help you with today?”</p><p>“I want to know about zombies,” I said. “How to protect yourself against them, to be a bit more precise.”</p><p>“Well, you ain’t stupid, I’ll give you that. Some folks come in here, askin’ ‘bout zombies, an’ all they wanna know is how they’re made. It’s mighty unchristian, making a zombie.” She caught my wary glance to the altar. “Now, I know how to make one, ‘cause it’s my craft to know how. That way I can do some protection fetishes or reverse it or what have you. But I don’t make them. A zombie is nothin’ but a thinkin’ person with his mind stole away, an’ enslaved to whatever black-heart is pulling on his strings. It’s dark stuff, zombie making is.”</p><p>“So humans can do it, I'm guessing, but what about something else?”</p><p>“Now <em>there’s</em> a question. What type of something else do you mean?”</p><p>“Like a vampire,” I said quietly.</p><p>Marie’s eyebrows rose up to her hairline, and she cast quick glances at the window and the door. “Vampires can create something like, but not, with their Renfields. And I’ve heard tale of far fouler things than Renfields—good people bitten by a vampire and cursed to live an afterlife deprived of any form of comfort in Heaven or on Earth.” She shuddered and crossed herself. “It’s foul power that drives those things. A foul power indeed. If it ain’t damnation, then I don’t know what is.”</p><p>Icy fear sweat trickled down my back, despite the hot room. “So it’s magic that makes a zombie? Or is it like—possession? Or—”</p><p>“You’re white, Mizz Merlotte, an’ you ain’t a practitioner of any arts. <em>Vaudun</em> is a little bit of this and a little bit of that. The practitioner has the goal of walking with saints and spirits, bringing what power they have into the world. The good practitioners try to ally themselves with saints, use the <em>loa</em><b>—</b>the spirits<b>—</b>who are less inclined to hinder or to play mean tricks. The bad<b>—</b>the bad don’t ally themselves with good spirits. Their <em>loa</em> tend to be more vindictive, more inclined to harm than to help. It’s a worse practitioner who seeks to enslave <em>loa</em>. As for how that gets to zombies<b>—</b>zombies are but spirits severed from their flesh, and told to work for the practitioner who holds the leash."</p><p>Her voice changed, becoming more academic, more like the intelligence I had first marked in her eyes. “It takes a sacrifice of blood to separate the spirit from the flesh. Most zombies are made by killing the desired person, and performing a ritual to chain them to their maker. Most often, it is the flesh that is chained, while the soul is left to go who knows where. I hope to heaven, but the violence of the sundering is terrible, terrible. The soul is replaced by the will of the practitioner, and it is that will that drives the flesh. Sometimes it is a lesser <em>loa</em>, whom the practitioner has broken to his will that sits inside the flesh. Only the worst of the worst do that. Now, for a vampire to make one, that would not be too hard. One only needs an ear for <em>loa</em>, and it can happen. The <em>loa</em> can guide the making, you see. A vampire can easily make the blood sacrifice<b>—</b>as easy as making dinner for you and I, wouldn’t it be? But the skill to make a zombie when one happens to be straddling the line between life and death themselves, and making the <em>loa</em> listen is something that I have only heard whispered of. The <em>loa</em> might turn on the vampire who seeks to command them. Or they might listen<b>—</b>I have heard told of dark bloodlines in the nightwalkers. They say one of the darkest of all came out of Transylvania.”</p><p>I shuddered. My ex had an obsession with some of the vampires from that area. “I’d rather not think of that,” I said. “Is there any way to prevent a vampire from making zombies?”</p><p>“Only the grace of God, child. Only the grace of God.”</p><hr/><p>Driving home in the slow gloaming gloom of an incipient evening thunderstorm was not pleasant. I kept seeing Marie Reynolds on the inside of my eyelids every time I blinked, face somber in the warm half-light of her office. Her dark eyes had been serious and piercing in the gloom, and I had “heard” a sound like a steel door opening.</p><p>“I am a good woman. I believe in God, and I believe that there is a corresponding evil in this world. Whoever is making these zombies now is solidly one of the evils of this world.” Her spoken words had rung true with her thoughts<b>—</b>thoughts that she kept well locked. I suppose when one worked with powers like she did, it was a good habit to have. But I had “heard” the deep-seated terror that she held against the things currently tormenting Bon Temps.</p><p>If something like that could make a woman such as she frightened<b>—</b>. I shivered. I kept seeing creeping silhouettes in the shadows of the roadside trees. <em>Something that walks the boundaries between Life and Death, belonging truly to neither. Zombies are but the soul and the flesh sundered from each other.</em> It all seemed to belong to such a clammy grey area that my mind shrank away from examining too closely. <em>For lo</em>, some old fashioned voice whispered in my head, <em>there are dreadful things that walk the night, and they keep to the shadows where light fears to penetrate.</em></p><p>Gooseflesh prickled my skin, the fine hairs on my arms and the nape of my neck rising. Lighting split the tarnished grey sky. The first fat drops of rain hit my windshield, growing in tempo as thunder rolled across the highway with a sound like a big timpani drum. I blinked away the shutter flash of the lightning fork to see a stately pine crash across the tarmac. I stomped on my brakes, pulling the steering wheel hard to the side.</p><p>My head lights weren’t on, and that fork of lightning was still blinking across my retinas. Maybe that’s why I didn’t see them until I was a foot or two away from the tree. Maybe they were hiding there already.</p><p>There were glowing eyes peeking out from between the thrashing boughs. And they sat at human height.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am not Cajun, so any mistakes with regards to the actual practice of this religion are mine and mine alone, as encyclopedias are not always great with practicalities. Marie Reynolds is my best guess of how some of the spiritualism of vaudun (or the Louisiana Creole version) would mix with the (stereotypically) prevailing religiosity of the American South.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Seras</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Continuing to build some potential momentum here, but we are nearly at the peak! Seras is getting /tired/ of it all.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I woke the next evening bleary and discomfited. My stomach growled. Even as an immortal confined to a liquid diet, gin did not make for a good dinner. At least I wasn’t hung over. I groped in the mini fridge for a True Blood, and gulped that down with a grimace. I checked the label on the bottle: B Pos. Generally one of my favorites, but as a synthetic, less so. It was cheaper to drink synthetics, the way it was cheaper to go to a McDonald’s than to a proper pub. I was lucky in a way that my arm was flesh now: I had tended to flicker when I was on synthetics for a while.</p>
<p>I brushed my teeth in the hope that minty freshness would get rid of the too-metallic taste of synthetic blood out of my mouth. Also because it was how I had trained myself to wake up more when I was human. Such a shame that caffeine no longer worked on me either. I spat out the minty foam and clenched my hands on the sink ledge. Why was today the day of all days that I regretted being human the most? Was it because of last night and Chernobog’s gruesome death? Was it because Sir Integra was expecting her baby any week now? What the bloody hell was it? I ought to have made my peace with it a decade ago. Why now, of all times, when I had to go and capture a sick-ass motherfucking vampire and I needed all of my head together to bring him down. Why now?</p>
<p>I thought I had gotten out of the angst stage when I hit thirty two years ago. I looked at my face in the mirror, and stuck my tongue out. Still the same old baby face that had plagued me since my late teens. Maybe that made sense then. Or maybe not.</p>
<p>I checked my shields out of a knee-jerk reflex. They were strong, but still not as strong as I would like. I could still sense Alucard out there, brushing against them like a bear might brush against a tree to test it. I liked it when I could sense him out there<b>—</b>but not this close to my mind. Not any more. Not after a decade of stillness. It was still difficult to wrap my mind around, that he was back. That I had a Master again.</p>
<p>My phone rang from my bedside table. I glanced over at it. Number unknown. Seeing as I hadn’t been in this country long enough to attract telemarketers, it wasn’t one of them. Since it had to be someone I had met<b>, </b>I hit the answer button. “Hello, Victoria speaking.”</p>
<p>“Find the telepath.”</p>
<p>“May I ask who is calling?”</p>
<p>“Find the telepath.” The speaker was female, with a bit of gravel under her slow-sliding drawl.</p>
<p>“Ma’am,” I said, the chill of Integra’s upper crust accent sliding its way into my tones, “this is a private number and I do not appreciate being pranked. May I ask who is calling?”</p>
<p>“Find the telepath, vampire. Quickly.” The line clicked, and went dead.</p>
<p>I stood there frozen, the phone still clenched in my hand. My thoughts resembled the buzz of a dial tone<em>. A missing telepath? Who the hell was that? Sookie Merlotte? Couldn’t be her. She was smart, she knew the dangers that immortals posed. Couldn’t be her. How was I supposed to find a missing telepath? Shake down fucking LaLaurie?</em> Well, that’d accomplish something, maybe. At the bare minimum, it would get rid of some of my frustrations. Maybe make my skin fit easier on my bones, once it was purged of the need to go out and utterly <em>shred</em> something to ribbons. Maybe make Alucard realize I wasn’t his stupid little fledge any more. But would I find the telepath by doing that? I didn’t know. And who exactly thought themselves to be my bloody commanding officer? I think I could ask Integra to set a tech team to tracing the call; it wouldn’t be that hard.</p>
<p>I removed the phone from my ear so I could see to dial the home office. The phone started ringing again, jumping in my palm. Another 318 number. I hit the answer button. “Hello, Drake speaking.” <em>At least I got the proper cover name this time.</em></p>
<p>“Hi, Ms. Drake? This is Sam Merlotte. Has my wife been to see you today?”</p>
<p>“No, she hasn't. Should I have?”</p>
<p>“Maybe?” The man sighed, stress and worry reverberating down the line. “She was out today, trying to find anyone who knows anything about vampires and zombies. From what she’s said, I thought you’d be one of the people she’d talk to. Seeing as you seem to know a lot about the subject.”</p>
<p>I frowned. “I only just got up, so I haven’t seen her today. She was out and about earlier, wasn’t she? When I’ve seen her, it’s usually been later in the evening.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, she went out earlier. It’s just... It’s getting on to seven, and she hasn’t been in yet to make dinner for the kids, and she isn’t working today, so she should be able to come home and tuck them in, but when I’ve talked to her friends, they haven’t seen her. Heck, even Pam and them at Fangtasia haven’t seen her since yesterday. The kids are heading to bed, and Sook’s generally able to tuck them in, and she wouldn’t miss that, not if she missed family dinner and<b>—</b>. I’m worried, Ms. Drake.”</p>
<p>Yeah, that was pretty evident. I felt for the man. Sookie was a generally good person. I didn’t often run across those in my line of work. I liked her. And for Sookie to be deviating from her normal routine, when it seemed like she generally didn’t<b>—</b>my Police Girl senses were tingling. “When did you last see her, Mr. Merlotte?”</p>
<p>“This morning, before I left for work. Delivery day and all. I was supposed to come back at three, but the kids were with Tara, and Sookie was out. I picked the kids up, and I’ve been waiting ever since.”</p>
<p>“Did she leave a note to say where she was going?”</p>
<p>“We do do that for each other, yeah. She said she was going to Samedi Dried Goods, out by the Red River.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>A big, bad old moon was on the rise as Alucard and I ran our way down to the Red River and Samedi Dried Goods. Something was crawling its way up my skin, pinpricks sinking into my bones. Something was coming. It may already even be here, and there were just moments left until I had to face it.</p>
<p>--S<em>o why are you running after a lowly human, hmm?</em>-- Alucard asked, mind to mind.</p>
<p>I yanked up my mental walls in a hurry. <em>Dunno, prolly ‘cause torturing someone for information isn’t really my kink, it’s </em>yours<em>. I don’t get off on that.</em> Least, I never could remember myself being like that. Like him. Sadistic and cruel and highly unamused by a world that changed and yet, didn’t. The technology was different than it had been ten years ago, loads different. It was almost like the sci-fi shows that I’d watch when I was bored and off-duty. But people were still people. How must it be for him, to have seen the world progress each decade, each century, but people remaining the same? I’d seen the worst of humanity in my line of work, and I got to see the worst of immortality now too. What was the line that divided me from the people I hunted? Where was it? When would I lose everything that had made me me when I was human and exchange it for the cool indifference of immortality? Or was that something that happened when I had seen enough bloodshed to not be affected by it anymore (externally at least), like Integra? If I couldn’t save this one human, who wasn’t related to my mission, who was I anymore? Who would I become? I shuddered to find out.</p>
<p>I pushed my legs to go faster, shadows whipping out like wings. The world turned under me, and I just had to touch down to go where I wanted to. The thread of Sookie’s scent, hard liquor and furniture polish from the bar, a deep golden smell that reminded me of pub cooking, and something that was uniquely her drew me on. The rest could change, had changed, covered up by exhaust and metal as they were, but the essence of a bright summer’s day and whatever sparkle mixed with coppery mortality that was Sookie, that didn’t change.</p>
<p>I blew into the crossroads at the center of the dusty backwater, right in front of Samedi Dried Goods, Alucard hard on my heels. <em>Here, here, here</em>, my instincts whispered. T<em>he trail becomes fresher here. And there is something<b>—</b></em> I wheeled, trying to find the fresher trace of scent<b>—</b>and stopped. Stopped <em>hard</em>, like there was a meat hook attached to my spine, my waist, and I wasn’t allowed to go further.</p>
<p>“What the hell are you?” a woman asked, coming out of the store with a sawed-off shotgun pointed straight at me. Her skin almost blended with the night, and her eyes were full of hard fury. “And what the hell are you doing on my property?”</p>
<p>I gaped like a fish. Couldn’t quite help it. Never in my life<b>—</b>experience shall we say<b>—</b>had I met a full-blooded human who was as attuned with various arcana as this one. Maybe Sir Integra, but she didn’t exert the same aura of power as this woman. This woman had managed to put <em>Alucard</em> in the same predicament as I was in. The crimson menace was snarling to my left, fangs bared and hands twisting into claws. When he was this pissed, I generally expected to see the shadows boiling and bubbling, but they lay quiet.</p>
<p>“<em>Cine dracu esti tu?! </em>Ce<em> naiba ești tu ?! </em><em>Lasama liber! </em><em>Vino ca să te omor!</em>” he growled.</p>
<p>“We could ask the same question of you,” I said, trying to be polite in the face of the snarling Romanian. “Who are you?”</p>
<p>“A shopkeeper,” the woman replied, keeping the shotgun aimed right between my eyes. I could smell the tang of salt and something almost holy beneath the gun oil. No stranger to vampires, then. That could be good<b>—</b>or very, very bad. “Who and what are y’all? Ya ain’t human, I know that much.”</p>
<p>“<em>Bitch</em>,” Alucard hissed. At least he remembered his English.</p>
<p>“Victoria Drake,” I said, slowly raising my hands. I remembered my cultural briefing. I was also wondering how many times I would have to introduce myself. “And this is Alexei Vladimirescu. We’re on a missing person’s case.”</p>
<p>“Drake. You lookin’ for a white girl called Sookie Merlotte?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” I answered carefully.</p>
<p>The bonds holding me in place fell, and I exhaled out of relief. I didn’t even notice the sensation of all-over mild pinching until it was gone. “Well. Follow me then. The<em> loa</em> said I should be expecting you.”</p>
<p>The woman led us back to a porch facing the river. A verve was laid out in precise chalk lines on the concrete that both Alucard and I took pains not to smudge. A picnic table was strewn with various paraphernalia, and the tang of blood perfumes the air. Not quite fresh blood, but something close to it. A bowl laying on the table held the answer: it was filled with various organs and entrails. Smelled like chicken. The woman jerked her head to the picnic table, and Alucard and I sat on the side opposite from her.</p>
<p>“Now,” she said, keeping the shotgun aimed at us. “Tell it to me straight. Do you want to find the missing white girl or no? You. Crimson Freak, what’s your answer?”</p>
<p>“I do not care, woman,” Alucard growled.</p>
<p>“And you, moonshine?” she said, jerking her chin at me.</p>
<p>“I want her found,” I said softly. “I want her found for her sake, for her children’s sake, and because it is right.”</p>
<p>She nodded once. “Very well. There are unclean things about. A knot of corruption, leaking out into the world.”</p>
<p>“Yes, we know all that,” I grit out. “You say spirits talk to you. Have they said anything about where this knot of corruption is?”</p>
<p>The woman blinked. “Yes. Yes they have.”</p>
<p>“So can you tell us that?” I was trying to be polite. I swear.</p>
<p>She hastily shuffled out a map, and strung up a pendulum. “I can try. But the white girl, Sookie<b>—</b>.”</p>
<p>I shook my head. “It’s not my first dance with this fuckwit. If he keeps to the same steps, he’ll have her in the heart of his lair.”</p>
<p>The woman nodded. “Very well. I will show you where it is, <em>loa</em> willing.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Romanian from Google translate, so not archaic enough for Alucard to revert to when he's furious. "Who the hell are you? /What/ the hell are you? Let me free! Come so I may kill you!"</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Sookie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay. The characters are IN PLACE. The action has RISEN. Now let's go see where all the loop-de-loos and swerves of the plot roller coaster go now that we have hit the high point.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The air had a chill to it that could only come from a damp place and walls made out of stone. I shivered and drew my legs closer to my chest. My shirt and linen pants, so practical for a Louisiana summer, did nothing against the chill.</p><p>It was dark in this damp stone cube that I had been jammed into. That was par for the course in dungeons. Don’t ask me how I know; let’s just say that I’ve been in enough over the years. Not lately, thank God, but enough. It was like every evil Supe I’d been up against read from the same playbook: build your dungeons and prisons this way. It is guaranteed to cause maximum agony and discomfort to your human prisoners. I was honestly so over it. At least whoever this super freak was, they weren’t after my loved ones this time.</p><p>I hoped not, at least. I was still waiting for the henchmen to grab me so I could listen to whatever megalomaniacal (that was yesterday’s word) murderous freak had planned for his grand scheme. They were generally pretty good about telling their prisoners these things. Increase the suffering and agony that way. At least, they were good about it if the prisoner was important.</p><p>I was hoping I was somewhere in the middle of the spectrum: important enough to hear the grand plan, but not important enough to be subjected to either incredible amounts of pain, or stifling amounts of scrutiny. Both would impede my ability to escape.</p><p>Escape. Right. How was I supposed to do that? I had left a note for Sam<b>—</b>he’d be getting worried right about now. I wasn’t blood-bonded to anyone anymore. If I had my cellphone with me<b>—</b>I had patted my pockets earlier to discover it missing<b>—</b>I could text someone. Sam or Bill or Pam or my brother or Alcide or even Victoria Drake and Scary Al. I didn’t have that. I didn’t even have my ex around. Say what you will about Eric Northman<b>—</b>and I had said a lot, over the years<b>—</b>he was protective of me, and tended to help me get out of tight situations. Some of those pickles I had gotten into because I was associated with him<b>—</b>but he had tried his damndest to get me out if possible. I missed that right now. Even if I never would be with him in any way, shape, or form again (and for good reason), I missed that sense of security.</p><p>I cursed right then, a vicious blue streak that would have burned my grandmother’s ears and resulted in a vigorous scrubbing of my mouth with soap had she heard it. It was soft and vicious over a wavering core of terror. I <em>hated</em> being imprisoned. I absolutely <em>hated</em> it. Sitting here and succumbing to the drugging cold wouldn’t help at all. It would give me too much time to think about what-ifs and it could make me weaker when I decided to make my break for it. So I pushed myself to stand, and started pacing around my cell, one hand on the wall.</p><p>I barely had enough room to stand up in, and I’m not particularly tall. I could feel the slight tug on my scalp each time my hair got caught in a rough patch on the ceiling. The floor was stone, and the walls were concrete. There was a grate at the bottom of one wall. Opposite the grate, there was a slight ledge. It hit me slightly above my navel, and was rather wide. The ceiling was higher there too. I pushed my fingers across the ledge, stretching my arm out. The ledge went on about as far as I could reach from my cell, but there was no way I could really use it to escape. There were metal bars blocking any exit there. I pushed myself up onto the ledge. There was a faint light source somewhere in the cavern beyond, but I couldn’t see it.</p><p>I let myself drop. Next to no useful information, beyond the fact that it would take some doing to get out. The ledge provided a hand-hold, but I wasn’t so sure I could manage to get my feet up there too, to try and see if there was a door made out of those metal bars. They had felt slightly rusty, so I wasn’t sure I wanted to trust my weight to them to hoist myself up. <em>Shit. What now, Sook?</em></p><p>My “radar” pinged off of something<b>—</b>a blank void moving closer to me. <em>Vampire. Okay, Sookie, make everything look normal.</em> Thankfully I had “heard” him in time<b>—</b>I had enough experience to know vampires moved cat-soft unless they had reason not to. It was some sort of supernatural predator thing that Sam had to remember to not do when he was at home. (That had been a factor in the Frying Pan Incident.) I quickly retreated to the back of my cell, trying to appear like the perfect frightened human. It wasn’t all that hard, really. I was absolutely terrified, cold fear-sweat making me even more chilled in the gloom of the cell. I was thinking about everything and anything but the approaching soft-footed death.</p><p>You think after going through this Heaven knows how many times in the span of three or four years, I’d be used to situations like this. That I’d be braver. I’d survived so much<b>—</b>all I had to do was look in the mirror and see how much. Truth is, I’m a bit of a coward. I think everyone is, at some point. For me, my cowardice was worse when I was in a small, dark place with something deadly approaching me and no good way to fight back.</p><p>I pressed my back across the wall, stone biting into my skin as a shadow darkened the grate. It moved in an oddly fluid way, and there was a moon-pale face floating in the space between the ceiling and the half-wall preventing my escape. I inhaled sharply, trying to stifle the burn of bile crawling its way up my throat. I had seen this face before. I had seen it when my bar had been attacked by all those zombies. He had been the well-dressed man in that party. He had made me uneasy then, but now<b>—</b></p><p>Now he threatened to make me lose control of my various functions. <em>Crap oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap. Keep it together, Sook! Put some starch into that spine of yours! You’ve faced Al at PSYCHOCON-1, you’ve faced down multiple vampire royalty, you can do this!</em> I wasn’t so sure I could. Not against that rictus grin that would have put any animated version of the Joker to shame. Not against the prominently displayed fangs. Not against the cheerful maliciousness present in that face. He was scarier than Al<b>—</b>and Al was incredibly scary. Oh, sure, similarities were there: the too-wide shark-like grin and a delight in bloodshed. Al had something critical that this vampire did not have: some semblance of sanity. Or at the bare minimum, a shred of control and boundaries. Al had eyes that reminded me of hellfire<b>—</b>but even the devil has some limits. The death’s head grinning at me seemed to not have those shreds of control.</p><p>I know my fictional vampire lore well enough. I mean, what else do you do when interacting with people gets tiring? I know that some of the hot vampires are the blond ones<b>—</b>and that’s not just personal experience talking. However, staring into those mad eyes, those bared, sharp ivory teeth, all framed by slicked-back salt-white hair made me glad I was dating a living, breathing brunet.</p><p>“Sszookie Ssstackhousze,” the creature lisped. “I ahm zo glad to meet you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes, there is a horrible phonetic French accent. I will make no apologies for that if it makes you hear what the character sounds like.</p><p>Yes, it is a short chapter this week, but it helps me build a cushion, and gives YOU a nice, juicy cliffhanger. I'll see y'all in another two weeks.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Sookie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I was doing anything and everything to avoid the fact that there was a nightmare crouched in front of my cell and leering at me. Thinking about pleasant things, like how my husband would probably get a search party going by now to get me out of here. I really needed that thought and prayer, because I was trying to backpedal through the wall. Stone’s not so great at absorbing humans into it, funnily enough.</p><p>“Well, well, darling,” the albino abomination crooned in his French accent, “I don’t want to terrify you. After all, we have barely been introduced properly. I know your name, but you don’t know mine. Antoine LaLaurie. I do so hope we can get over this awkwardness. I feel that our working relationship would be a glorious thing.”</p><p>I wasn’t quite sure if the lisping syllabents were a good thing or a bad thing. I was going on the side of bad. Most vampires didn’t lisp around their fangs because the fangs were retracted most of the time. This was <em>so</em> not a good situation. “Well, it’s <em>Mrs.</em> Sookie <em>Merlotte</em> nowadays,” I responded on autopilot. I sounded like one of those society matrons at the church circle meetings that Gran went to. <em>How pleasant, Mr. LaLaurie. Now would you like some peach cobbler to go with your blood?</em> Of course, none of them would invite this spider-fingered skeleton into their parlor.</p><p>“But of course, of course. Mrs. Sookie Merlotte. I should have remembered, darling. Forgive me for being so uncouth.”</p><p>“Apology accepted.” <em>Could I overpower him?</em> I wasn’t so sure. It had been a while since I had been around my cousins. It also wasn’t like I could shoot microwaves out of my hands. Was there a loose rock in here somewhere? <em>Stay calm and collected, Sook. You can manage this.</em></p><p>“It is rare that I meet someone so beautiful as yourself. I met one other woman, but alas! She did not respond well to my suit.”</p><p><em>Can’t say I blame her, creepazoid that you are.</em> I mean, really. Yeah, the sun would have probably fried this guy quicker than a slug on a sidewalk, but spray tanner was cheap. Sure, there was the risk of looking like an orange later, but with that poreless face, I didn’t think it was possible.</p><p>LaLaurie smiled wider, corners of his lips peeled almost all the way back to his pointed molars. “You do not believe me? Why, darling?”</p><p><em>Did I look like I wanted to hear about your ex?</em> I must have looked like I was trying to find a way out. Which happened to be true. But not what I wanted him to think. <em>Fuck, I’m going to need to distract him more.</em> “Well, if you pardon me, I just find it hard to believe that someone could<b>—</b>” I coughed, working my throat a bit. “Be easily attracted to you. ‘Cause, I’m sorry, but I tend to like men with a bit more blush to them.”</p><p>He chuckled throatily, head tipped back in delighted mirth. “Oh, <em>ma chérie! Comme c’est amusant!</em> That is so easily fixed. No, no, the girl finds me attractive enough, but certain other traits of mine, she finds reprehensible. <em>Si étrange</em>, stomping around with that leashed mad, murderous disgrace the way she does. She is from a proud lineage! She could do so much better!</p><p>“But I am not here to discuss another woman with you, darling.” His demeanor was suddenly serious, and he crept closer to the bars. “No, no, I am here to discuss someone far more beautiful, far more rare, far more precious than she.<em> You</em>.”</p><p><em>Guess that means I’m an important prisoner then. Damn.</em> “Well, I’m just a simple bar owner in small town Louisiana. I’m not sure what exactly an esteemed personage such as yourself would want with me.” That sounded like the flattery that Eric or Pam would lay on the current monarch. It should do.</p><p>LaLaurie chuckled again, an almost metallic sound. It sounded like a purring diesel out of Hell. “A simple bar owner? Oh, oh, <em>mignonette</em>! You? No, you are something much more rare and priceless than that! Why deface yourself so? Dearest, dearest.” He unfolded fluidly, and unlocked the grate. The door moved aside with a metallic clang and LaLaurie flowed into the cell in an eerie stutter. He crossed to where I cowered against the back wall and took my chin in his fingers. His skin was chill, fingertips slightly rough. He tilted my face up to his, fingers steel against the sides of my face. His breath blew across my face in a cold, wet, copper-tainted gust. “You are a telepath, one of the most gifted of your generation. That is why you are so precious. That is why I want to make you mine.”</p><p>“I’m not interested,” I said. “I’m married. I’m not in the market for a new job.”</p><p>“Ye-e-es. That husband of yours. A shifter. Rare, but not a telepath. Not like you. Besides, I have no use for a shifter. Even if I did, my children are already remarkable enough. You, on the other hand, would be a fine jewel in my collection. Even better than her.” His tongue flicked out, once, twice, ruby red against his pallor. “Oh, you will do very well indeed. Sunshine and wind and foreign spices all wrapped up in mortality. Yes, I do think I could do very well with you, <em>mignonette.</em> Very well indeed.” He leaned in and licked my cheek. His tongue was wet, cold, and disturbingly scaly. Like he could lick the flesh from bones if he desired, but he was delicately licking my face. The tip of his tongue flicked out to taste the hollow below my ear and describe my frantically pounding jugular and carotid. I tried to suppress the shudder that rose underneath my skin. He leaned back, eyes intent on my reaction. “Yes. Yes. Very well indeed. Charles! <em>Attendez!</em>”</p><p>A gaunt man shuffled in. I say man only because he had the shape of one. His mind wasn’t anything human. It wasn’t the tangly and snarly and wrong-frequency static of a shifter. It wasn’t the moving void of a vampire. It wasn’t the hair-raising crackling hum of a fairy or a demon either. It had to be a zombie. Even though I’d seen them once before, that low fridge hum of almost-life seemed to be broadcasting from this man.</p><p>LaLaurie smiled at me. “May I introduce Charles to you, Mrs. Merlotte? Charles is one of my oldest friends. One might call him a quasi younger brother, in fact.” He chuckled in his horrible, grating metal way. “Charles, say hello to Mrs. Merlotte.”</p><p>The zombie gave a semi-non-threatening grumble.</p><p>I smiled a bit too widely. “Hello.”</p><p>“Charles,” LaLaurie said, turning to his minion. “Do you have the chip I requested?” Another rumble of assent. “Good. Could you show it to Mrs. Merlotte please? Thank you.”</p><p>In the leathery palm of Charles’ hand, a small metallic object gleamed. It was about the size of my thumbnail with wires dangling off it like the legs of some horrible spider. My skin prickled sharply. As innocuous as the chip seemed, something about it made my instincts scream that it was dangerous.</p><p>“Now, <em>mignonette,</em> I do intend that you will accept my job offer. One way or another, you will work for me. There are a few options available to you. The first<b>—</b>which I do hope that you will accept<b>—</b>is to allow me to Make you. You will become my Childe.</p><p>“The second lies in Charles’ hand there. That is a FREAK chip. A defective one<b>—</b>I won’t be implanting <em>that</em> into you<b>—</b>but I do have a few spares that the crimson menace, the hellcat, and the ice bitch-queen didn’t destroy. It will make you into a vampire, but I cannot control the change easily. I do <em>so</em> despise technology, but it is an option that allows you to remain yourself. I would rather you do not take this option, as I am not sure that your telepathy would survive the operation. Nevertheless, I will still bond you to me once it is complete.</p><p>“The third is to become like Charles there. I am skilled enough that you will not lose your telepathy, but everything about you that makes you you, I am afraid, will be gone. I hope that you will not force my hand into making you like Charles. It would be such a waste, <em>mignonette.</em> So. What do you choose?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sookie's stressed. She's using strong language. \('~')/</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Seras</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Seras' entry into Ludazulamort. Content warning for Seras' potty mouth.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They call it “battle rattle” for a reason. I hadn’t quite planned on disposing of a nasty thorn in my side and rescuing a kidnapping victim this evening in one fell swoop, but here we were. I couldn’t be more pleased</span>
  <span>. Sure, I’m a vampire. I can tear apart my enemies with my bare hands. It is, however, time and energy consuming, and it is simply not prudent to engage the enemy in close-quarters melee combat when your backup is a company of riflemen about 50 meters away. It doesn’t matter if said rifles are skilled marksmen or not: it’s a stupid idea. So much better and simpler to blow whatever poor sods you are eliminating to kingdom come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I would maybe mourn the inability to rip LaLaurie’s head free from his neck and grind his still-beating heart (or whatever it is hearts do when animated by Unlife) under my heel while he watched, but I would live. The goddamn bastard would be holier than Swiss cheese with parts in five separate counties when I got through with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grinned viciously at the thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
  <em>
    <span>You seem happier than I’ve seen you in a while, Police Girl,</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- Alucard said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
  <em>
    <span>What? I can’t enjoy blowing an undead bastard up and annihilating everything he stands for?</span>
  </em>
  <span>--I replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alucard retreated into sullen thought. The world passed in blurs of sensory information below our feet as the fetish I carried led us through the bayou to Ludazulamort. Marie Reynolds had managed to rig it together from some copper wire and a few stray hairs that Sookie had left behind when she visited Samedi Dried Goods earlier. The fetish grew steadily warmer the closer we ran, the tugs on my hand becoming stronger and stronger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
  <em>
    <span>I thought,</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- he said after a few kilometers, --</span>
  <em>
    <span>that I was supposed to be the one like that, of the two of us.</span>
  </em>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>--</span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’ve</span>
  <em>
    <span> not had to put up with a decade of politics and this motherfucker laughing at you in the sidelines, have you?</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- I retorted. --</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why do you think Integra enjoys her fencing bouts with Anderson as much as she does?</span>
  </em>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t deign to reply to that either, which was good. I just wanted to do something simple and not have to wade though emotional entanglements.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fetish was red-hot. It felt like I was about to burn my hand off as we crested the rise. There, at the top of a hill overlooking the swamp was a forgotten manor home. It had perhaps once been grand, with its off-white pillars peeking through kudzu and huge windows like the blank eyes of effigies. By now though, it had fallen into severe disuse and neglect. A creaking sign dangling from the porch roof like a loose tooth proclaimed it to be the “Mortimer Funeral Home.” Nowhere near close to “Ludazulamort.” The weak moonlight breaking through the scudding clouds threw everything into a confusing chiaroscuro that would have had me spraining my ankles had I still been human. Everything was </span>
  <em>
    <span>off</span>
  </em>
  <span> by a few critical millimeters. Shadows didn’t seem to be coming from the objects they should be. Light didn’t reach places it should. Things that should be vertical </span>
  <em>
    <span>weren’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and things that should be horizontal ran on a diagonal. The broken-throated rasping howl of a ghoul spiralled up through the night. The fine hairs on my neck and my forearms wanted to rise. </span>
  <span>“Here we are,” I said, rather unnecessarily. “Shall we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe we shall,” Alucard said, cocking his Casulls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most people don’t consider the M2 Browning .50 machine gun to be a light gun by any means. It’s effective against lightly armored vehicles and low-flying aircraft. It’s effective against light fortifications, like say, a manor in severe disrepair. It doesn’t help that the M2HB model weighs close to 40 kilos. But then, when you’re a vampire and you are used to using a </span>
  <em>
    <span>freaking anti-tank cannon</span>
  </em>
  <span> as your regular weapon, then the Ma Deuce is a light gun. I eased it to a comfortable carry position, flipped the safety off, and put my thumbs on the butterfly trigger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, LaLaurie, you pestilent fuckwit! Yeah, you! I’m coming for you, you sick kidnapping shitweasel!” I shouted into the night air. “And guess what? I’m gonna steal your new bird </span>
  <em>
    <span>back!</span>
  </em>
  <span> You want a fine piece of blonde tail? You’re gonna have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>work</span>
  </em>
  <span> for it, you motherfucker!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you quite done?” Alucard asked calmly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I ignored him in favor of shouting abuse into the night.  “Are you so desperate for sex that you had to result to abduction? I knew you were a sick bastard, but I thought you had standards! You know, win the girl over and twist her all around your little finger. Did you honestly think that would work with Merlotte? She kicked the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Northman</span>
  </em>
  <span> to the curb! What makes you think you have any chance? That peroxided cue ball of yours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was some commotion inside the house that was starting to boil out. Good. My trigger fingers were getting itchy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or is she proof that you can actually get it up, you sadistic French fuck?” I continued yelling. “Can’t scare me, so why not see if you can do it to a human. Or maybe you’re tired of compensating for something with all those brats of yours running around? I can’t tell you how many of them I’ve killed. Oh, wait, I can! Over 100! And not a few of your special children too. What was that one’s name, Perry? Ya wanna risk me doing that again?” The rumblings were getting louder, but it wasn’t quite what I wanted it to be yet. Time for the kill shot. “I’ve had a better lay from a decrepit drunken </span>
  <em>
    <span>warlord</span>
  </em>
  <span> than I ever could have had from </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you cumwipe. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> idea of courtship died out </span>
  <em>
    <span>centuries</span>
  </em>
  <span> ago! Besides, I think a kingdom is much more my style than being a god on earth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air thundered, a scream of rage piercing the air. “SERAS VICTORIA!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smiled widely, feeling my fangs </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> slot into place. It was a feral, madcap grin worthy of my Master. I delighted in it. “There we are,” I said as the zombies poured out of the manor like wasps to defend their hive. “Here we go!” I pressed my fingers to the trigger and let Ma Deuce do her job.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Apologies that this is (yet another) shorter chapter today. I will probably be taking a brief hiatus until May 8 so I can work on building my buffer back up as some IRL events have taken precedence over writing. We are nearing the end though, so hang in there!<br/>x, nokabrenna</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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